None Goes His Way Alone
by CoffeeManiac
Summary: Jessica Moore's father has questions about the death of his daughter. The method he employs to get answers puts the boys in danger. Rated T for torture and violence. Not slash. The story is complete but will be posted in parts. Expect to see updates daily. Reviews and feedback are welcome and appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

None Goes His Way Alone

By Coffeemaniac

Not Slash

A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)

The Scheme

Jacob Moore ran fingers down the strikingly blue tie around his neck. Made of expensive silk, it felt smooth and velvety. The color was too bright, though, and he wouldn't have bought it for himself. When his wife presented it to him she said it matched his eyes. He knew better. His eyes hadn't been bright since their daughter's death. His eyes stared back at him from mirrors with nothing but the dismal hue of a gray sky.

He touched the heavy maple desk next. Smooth and cool, he breathed in the scent of the wood mixed with papers and ink and the lingering aroma of cigars. Jacob used to enjoy smoking rare tobaccos when the staff left the building and his space was his own. He still smoked but he didn't find any joy in it anymore.

His thickly stuffed leather chair creaked as he leaned forward to reach for the single photograph on his desk. A work of art, taken by a professional, showed his wife with her short, blond hair sitting straight and severe while holding his tiny daughter. The child smiled gracefully like her mother but her eyes spoke of childish expectancy. With long, blond curls arranged upon her shoulders and pudgy fingers draped across her mother's arm, Jessica looked back at her father for eternity, trapped in the body of a four year old, happy and full of life.

She shouldn't have died a mere seventeen years later. Her body destroyed. Her mind, so inquisitive, so intelligent and so promising, silenced. With brutal efficiency, a fire had ended all of her choices and all of her chances and it never should have happened.

Jacob grieved for his daughter every day. Nothing took the pain away. He wanted desperately to hold her and hear her voice. He looked around his enormous office with its expensive furnishings and artistic decorations and cursed it all. His money and success meant nothing in the face of losing his precious child.

Justine refused to show her grief with as much vehemence as Jacob clung to his. She was Jessica's mother and Jacob's wife and yet, she couldn't give in. She couldn't surrender to the agony of their loss. Her stoicism felt like a knife slicing through Jacob's soul. Her insistence on continuing to soldier on in the face of Jacob's shredded emotions made her a stranger.

Intellectually, Jacob knew that Justine simply could not stare at the emptiness that Jessica left behind. He understood that if Justine stopped, even for a moment, to face the reality that their daughter was gone forever then she would collapse and never recover. His wife was neither equipped nor prepared to deal with this kind of gut wrenching loss.

Still, Jessica was their daughter and he needed to grieve with his wife. He needed solace from her and he needed to give solace in return. Justine's rejection of him only stirred anger and resentment.

Jacob pushed himself away from his desk and stood. He traveled the few steps to the massive picture window overlooking a dark, rainy day from the 17th floor. Beautiful and dismal at the same time, he felt overwhelmingly sad knowing that his daughter would never share the view with him.

When she was twelve or so, she used to beg to come to work with him. And even though she'd always be bored within the first hours of morning, she still wanted to be with him. When she grew older, she'd bring him lunch or drop by just to talk. The day before she started her first classes at Stanford, she convinced him to take her shopping at the campus stores. They had met in his office and she stared out of the window commenting on the beautiful view of the city and chattering excitedly about college.

They had spent the whole afternoon together and he indulged her every request knowing that their lives were irrevocably changing.

Jacob heard the door open behind him with its swish against the carpet. That sound greeted him several times a day and meant many things from a catastrophe with shipping to lunch with his CEO to a moment of flirting while his secretary read him messages. This was the first time that hearing that sound filled him with anxiety.

He remained at the window, worried that his uncertainty might show when he turned around.

"Mr. Moore," Michael Battle said. "Your secretary wasn't at her desk. I hope it's all right that I came in."

Jacob didn't answer immediately. It took another moment for him to gather courage.

"It's fine," he said and pulled himself out of his memories. He slipped into his business man role, wrapping it like armor to his body. He continued looking out the window.

Battle's reflection in the glass seemed ghostly.

"Are you ready to discuss what it is that you wish to hire me for?" Battle asked.

"Yes," Jacob answered decisively and turned around.

"Please sit down." He indicated the leather chairs in front of his desk. "May I offer you something?"

Battle pulled his pant legs up a bit and settled. "No, thank you."

"All right then. I need to tell you a story and then we can discuss how it affects my need for someone of your skill set."

Battle sat back, his massive body filling the chair. Michael Battle evoked thoughts of body building contests, exercise machine informercials and the silly "kick sand in your face" cartoons that used to be popular. With a height of 6'6" and muscles that seemed to ache for release from their prison of skin, he was the most physically impressive person that Jacob had ever seen. Deeply tanned and sporting a blond buzz cut, he practically screamed "mercenary" from his very pores.

Jacob took one more breath before he started speaking.

"My daughter, Jessica, was enrolled at Stanford University. She was studying both law and psychology as she hadn't quite decided on a career path. I expected her to choose psychology because of her overwhelming curiosity about people. In any event, she was not on the Dean's List but she earned respectable grades and she wasn't wasting the money that we invested in her education."

Battle seemed to be truly listening as Jacob spoke. He didn't interrupt with needless comments but he leaned forward in his chair with hands clasped in his lap and nodded as if encouraging Jacob to continue.

"Two years in, Jessica met a young man named Samuel Winchester. They were nearly the same age. While he wasn't wealthy, he was intelligent and had earned a full scholarship to Stanford. He was studying Law. When Jessica brought him home for the Thanksgiving holiday, I knew she was serious about him so I had my staff run a background check. He was raised by his father and seemed to have no roots or permanent home. His mother died while he was an infant. He has one brother, no sisters. His father was apparently a mechanic but I don't know how he managed to earn a living with all the traveling they did. We did discover some evidence of credit card fraud related to the father but Sam's record was clean."

Jacob hesitated. He hadn't intended to make excuses for Sam Winchester.

"In any event, Jessica fell in love with him. They ended up renting an apartment together near the campus. It was a rat trap and I offered to put them some place better but Jessica didn't want that. She liked it there, said she felt comfortable and safe. Said she felt independent. Both of them stayed in school and Jessica seemed genuinely happy. Sam came home with her for Christmas and a few weekends. My wife and I accepted his presence in her life and in ours."

Hesitating again, Jacob leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. It was still difficult to talk about the end.

"Take your time, sir," Battle said gently, almost too gently for a man his size.

"Then, last November, just after Halloween, Jessica called her mother to say that Sam had left town for the weekend. Apparently, his brother had shown up unexpectedly and convinced Sam to take a short road trip. Jessica was very unhappy about the whole thing. She said that Sam spoke well of his brother but made virtually no attempt to keep in contact with him. She found it odd that he would agree to the trip. Her mother tried to comfort her, to reassure her. When they hung up, Justine, my wife, told me that she thought Jessica was worrying over nothing. That was the last time that we spoke with her. On November 2nd, very early in the morning, the chief of campus security at Stanford called to tell us that Jessica was dead."

Battle exhaled as if he was surprised, even saddened by Jacob's words. And even though, Jacob recognized the platitude for what it was, he was encouraged to continue.

"We didn't ask about Sam, not right away. They told us the apartment caught fire and Jessica was killed. Neither one of us cared to see an autopsy report. We wanted to believe that smoke took her, not fire. We wanted to believe that she didn't suffer. A few days later, we found out that Sam had been in the apartment with her but he had just arrived home. He hadn't been able to save her. I think it was realizing he had been there that changed things for me. It was just a slight doubt but with each passing day, it grew. It took some time to develop the courage but eventually I did ask for the autopsy results and then the police report. I found out that one of Jessica's ribs had a nick in the bone that's usually associated with stabbing. I found out that she didn't suffocate from smoke inhalation but rather, burned to death. The most horrific sort of death. I found out that Sam's brother dragged him from the apartment leaving her there to die alone."

Jacob realized suddenly that he was standing and pacing. He hadn't even realized that he left his desk. Trembling as he often did when thinking about Jessica's awful death he squeezed his hands into fists.

"I think…I think…that Sam Winchester murdered my daughter. The autopsy results were inconclusive regarding the damage to her rib. Apparently, the coroner felt that it could have happened when debris fell on her but I had other experts look. I was told that it looks like a very deep knife wound. So, I think he murdered her. Maybe his brother helped or maybe he just helped cover it up. I don't know which."

Battle didn't speak at first. He relaxed into the chair and waited. Jacob waited too. It wasn't easy to say the next words that needed to be spoken out loud. Then finally, Battle opened the door for him.

"What do you want me to do about Sam Winchester?"

"I want you to capture him and find out what happened to my daughter. If he killed her, as I expect that he did, I want you to help me kill him."

"And his brother?"

"I won't know the answer to that until I know what happened to Jessica."

Battle nodded. "I understand, sir."

Jacob spent the next several minutes discussing details and fees and a time table. He handed Battle a folder that documented the research Jacob had collected regarding Sam's life.

"Do you know how to get in touch with him?" Battle asked as he stared at a photo of Jessica and Sam.

"Yes. I'm sure if I ask him to come here, he will."

"All right, well, if you don't mind, give him a call and let's see what happens."

Jacob expected this but he didn't expect to have to do it so soon. He was prepared to pick up the phone in the morning, from his car or from his office with a cup of coffee and a shot of good whiskey.

"Sir, will that be all right?" Battle asked, still holding the photo in big, meaty hands.

Jacob nodded, feeling the muscles in his neck move stiffly with the movement.

"Yes, of course."

He opened his phone and scrolled through the numbers. He kept everyone organized by last name so it took a moment to find Winchester. He almost closed the phone again and called the plan off until Jessica's name popped up with her smiling face beside it. The familiar anger surged back up again and the doubt passed.

He pressed the call button when Sam's name arrived. Beside his number was a photo of a quaint looking cottage door. Jessica had added it to Jacob's phone because she said that for her, Sam had become her new home and she wanted him to remember that.

The number rang a couple of times and then the hesitant voice of Sam Winchester answered.

"Mr. Moore?"

"Yes. You kept my number."

"I meant it when I said to call me if you needed anything."

"You sound like you're in a car."

"My brother and I are still on our road trip."

"The road trip. I remember something about that. I don't know where you are but I'd like to see you."

"Uh, well, um, I'm not too far, I guess. We're in Arizona, up by the Colorado border."

"You remember where we live?" Jacob asked. He glanced at Battle who was listening intently to his words.

"Yeah, of course. I can be there by tomorrow night if you…I mean…what's this about?"

"Justine and I finally went through her belongings. There are some things, some items that we think you would want. I need to get this wrapped up, Sam. Will you come here? Right away?"

A moment's hesitation passed and then Sam's voice again. "We've been driving all day so we'll stop tonight and then head in your direction first thing in the morning. We should be there by early evening."

"This is very personal, Sam. I'd rather you didn't bring your brother to the house. Will that be a problem?"

"Oh, uh, no, I'll come by myself."

"Thank you. We'll have dinner waiting."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Moore."

"Good bye, Sam."

Jacob ended the call and put the phone in his jacket pocket. Battle nodded at him with the smallest of smiles. The older man opened the side drawer to his desk and withdrew a small card. The light cardboard felt smooth against his fingertips. The clean, black writing stood out against white paper. He handed it to Battle with some relief at having it out of his hands.

"That's the address of a residence my cousin owned. He died a couple of years ago so it's empty now. The cellar has been outfitted based on some specifications that I was able to obtain from a friend of mine, a general who served in Afghanistan."

"You're very prepared, sir."

"I need answers, Mr. Battle. I need to know why my daughter is dead."

"I can do that."

"All right then. The deposit will be in your account within the hour. The balance will be transferred upon our final interview."


	2. Chapter 2

None Goes His Way Alone

By Coffeemaniac

Not Slash

A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)

The Lure

The next evening, Jacob Moore gave his household staff the night off. He arranged to have an Italian meal catered by a local restaurant. He convinced Justine to take a long weekend in San Francisco. He made certain that the landscaping staff was done for the day and off the property.

Spaghetti, tossed salad, garlic bread and cheesecake were assembled in the kitchen, waiting to feed the love of Jessica's life, and possibly her murderer. Jacob dreaded the moment of sitting down at a table and sharing a meal with Sam Winchester. He wasn't sure he could get through it without shooting him on the spot. Not that he was armed or preparing for that to happen, but he couldn't help the thought as it passed through him.

He also dreaded handing over the few photos of Jessica and Sam that she had kept in her bedroom, hated to give him back the cheap ring that was engraved with Sam's name on the inside of the band. Just allowing Sam's hands to touch things that were precious to Jessica made him feel nauseous.

At ten minutes until seven, Jacob's phone rang. Sam Winchester was near the house. He expected to arrive by seven. Jacob disconnected the call and scrolled to Jessica's name. He exhaled anxiety as he closed the phone.

Almost exactly ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Jacob took a moment to look in the oversized mirror hanging at the base of the winding staircase. He reminded himself that he was used to dealing with unpleasantness, used to negotiating with individuals much tougher and with more savvy than Sam Winchester. He gave himself a feral smile then schooled his expression.

When he opened the massive door, Sam had his finger hovering over the doorbell, apparently preparing to ring again.

"Mr. Moore," Sam said, changing the direction of his limb to shake Jacob's hand.

Jacob gave him a firm greeting then invited him in. He had forgotten how young the boy was.

"Is Mrs. Moore here?" Sam asked.

Jacob smiled wryly to himself. Sam used to call them by their first names. At Jessica's funeral, he reverted to the formal surname.

"She's in San Francisco for the weekend. In fact, she dismissed the entire staff for the night. I'm afraid we'll have to rough it with take out."

"That's not necessary. I can grab something later at the hotel."

Jacob considered canceling the meal. Sam clearly wanted to leave and Jacob dreaded sitting down with him, but he didn't do it. Michael Battle was waiting someplace and, according to the mercenary, timing was important.

"Nonsense. Justine would never forgive me if I didn't take care of you. May I get you something to drink? I have beer."

Sam smiled. Jacob thought he saw amusement in his eyes as if he were laughing at him.

"A beer would be great. Thank you."

"We'll use the living room for now," Jacob said then led Sam through the foyer and into the casual room where Justine liked to host her guests. Sam moved along behind him as if he needed to be shown but Jacob knew full well that Sam had spent enough time there to navigate the many rooms easily.

When they reached the living room, Jacob motioned towards the deep green easy chair. "Please sit down. I'll be back momentarily and you can tell me about this road trip with your brother."

Jacob waited until Sam settled before making his way into the kitchen. The caterer had set the small dinner up so that the hot food sat atop warmers while the salad bowl was iced. The meal smelled delicious but the aroma turned Jacob's stomach.

He lingered longer than necessary in the kitchen needing an extra moment before retrieving the beer, a domestic brand, from the refrigerator. He considered grabbing the whole six pack and just plopping it down in front of Sam. But, he didn't do that. It would send out a flag that all was not right and Jacob needed to keep Sam's trust long enough for Battle to close the deal.

Returning to the living room, he found Sam standing near the brick fireplace and holding a heavy frame. Jacob didn't need to see the front to know that it housed a photograph of Jessica at her high school graduation. Sam looked startled when Jacob cleared his throat.

"I remember this picture," Sam said. "She didn't like her hair that short."

"Yes. She complained endlessly about having it displayed but her mother loves it."

Sam replaced the photo on the mantle. Jacob handed him the beer and they both sat down. An awkward silence followed as Jacob felt his rage ignite. How dare Jessica's killer touch her picture? How dare he reminisce about her?

"I'm sorry I missed Justine, uh, Mrs. Moore," Sam self-corrected and Jacob wondered why he bothered.

"Talking about her daughter is upsetting. She was sorry to miss seeing you though."

Another silence followed. Sam drank his beer and looked at the mantle, studying the displayed pictures as if they were the only thing of importance.

"So, you and your brother," Jacob started. "You're still traveling?"

Sam exhaled deliberately. "Yeah, uh, I needed a break."

"And your brother was willing to just drop his life to go with you?"

"Well, it's not really like that. He travels pretty much all the time anyway. I'm mostly tagging along with him."

"Where have you been since…" Jacob trailed off. He didn't want to talk about the fire or Jessica's death.

Sam seemed to understand because he answered as if it had been a complete question. "All over, I guess. We were on the east coast just recently and then we started heading this way. It was just lucky we were so close when you called. We could just as easily been in New Jersey or someplace."

Jacob nodded, meeting Sam's eyes, interested in how the boy spent his time. What did a person do after murdering someone who loved them?

"Have you seen your father?" Jacob asked.

Sam pulled back physically at the question, his eyes growing wide for just a moment.

"Just briefly a couple of weeks ago. He can be difficult to reach sometimes."

Jacob stared at the boy sitting across from him, comfortably drinking beer and remembered when Sam sat on the couch with Jessica curled up next to him. Jacob remembered how she had taken the beer out of his hand and drank some of it. It had been scarily intimate. Sam had put his hand on her thigh and left it there. There was nothing inappropriate in his actions but Jacob recalled being shocked. Then he had looked at his daughter as she looked at Sam. The love, the near adoration in her eyes had frightened Jacob to his core.

"Let's keep things casual, shall we?" Jacob said. "We'll eat in the kitchen."

"Sure. Sounds good," Sam said, standing up as Jacob stood.

As they entered the kitchen, Jacob glanced at the small bag sitting on the chair in the corner. Justine had placed three photographs, the ring and a Stanford t-shirt inside. The red and gray shirt was enormous and clearly did not belong to Jessica.

"Grab a plate from the counter there and fill up. Do you need another beer?" Jacob asked.

"Sure, thanks," Sam said as he lifted a glass dinner plate. He took a helping of spaghetti and covered it in sauce. Given his size, Jacob thought he took a small portion. Sam took some salad as well but didn't use the salad bowls. He tucked the spinach mixed with quail eggs, swiss cheese and ham next to the pasta.

Sam took a chair that put his back to the wall and waited while Jacob obtained his own meal. Jacob had asked Jessica about Sam's need to sit facing doors and open spaces. He had noticed it after they visited a couple of restaurants during their holiday stays at the house. Jessica explained that Sam's father had been a combat Marine and had raised both of his sons to be wary of their surroundings.

Once Jacob joined him, Sam dug into the meal with an appropriate amount of appreciation. Jacob only picked at his, giving just the impression of eating. He didn't think his stomach could take much given his level of tension.

When he retrieved Sam's second beer, Jacob took one also and poured the amber liquid into a chilled glass. He offered Sam a glass but the boy declined. Jacob sat across from him and sipped the liquor.

The long silence at the table was deafening.

"The house and grounds look good," Sam commented, obviously uncomfortable with the lack of conversation.

"Thank you. We try to keep everything up to par."

Sam shook his head, clearly hearing the sardonic tone. "I'm sorry. I'm not much good at small talk."

"Don't worry about it. I invited you here. As the host, it's my job to entertain."

Sam gave him a weak smile.

"How long will you be in town?" Jacob asked.

"We'll probably leave tomorrow. We were on our way to Colorado when you called. Dean, my brother, he's anxious to get back up there."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, uh, we have a job. It's something he found and we both want to get started."

"What kind of work?"

Sam put his fork down and scratched his neck before answering. "Pest control."

Jacob frowned. That didn't sound plausible.

"You're driving to Colorado to be exterminators?" He pressed.

Sam nodded. "Sort of. It's a small town and they're looking for help so it works out for us."

"Hmm."

Sam pushed his plate away and finished his beer.

"You know," he started, his voice faltering for a moment. "I miss her all the time."

Jacob set his glass down carefully because he wanted to slam it instead. He stood up knowing it was too abrupt, knowing he was giving away his true feelings.

"I can't talk about this," Jacob said. "It's too soon."

"I'm sorry."

"Yes, well, are you finished eating?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then let's get on with this."

"Mr. Moore, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"No, Sam. I understand. Just…this isn't the time."

Jacob took the small, black bag off the chair. He handed it to Sam quickly thinking it was like ripping off a band-aid.

"There are some photos. A trinket, a ring, I guess. There's a shirt that likely belongs to you. Justine wanted you to have these things."

Sam swallowed visibly as he pushed away from the table. He looked inside the bag but didn't remove anything. Looking back up, Jacob was horrified to see his eyes were glassy with tears.

"Don't do that," Jacob ordered.

The boy cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. Thank you for this. Please thank Mrs. Moore for me."

Sam stood up, clutching the ends of the bag. Clearing his throat again, he said, "Please call me if either of you need anything."

Awkwardly moving backward towards the doorway, Sam made his way out of the kitchen. Jacob waited a few heartbeats before following. He stopped, startled when Sam was standing there.

"Do you blame me?" he asked with a steadiness in contrast to his obvious anxiety.

"Should I?" Jacob asked, not worrying anymore about revealing his plan.

Sam ducked his head for a moment. When he lifted his chin and met Jacob's eyes, he said, "Probably."

"Get out," Jacob said. His voice sounded soft to his own ears. "Don't come back."

Sam nodded with just the slightest motion before he turned around and walked out of the house. Jacob watched until the door closed behind him. Reaching into his pants pocket he removed his cell phone and pressed the speed dial number. When Battle answered, Jacob told him that Sam had left the house.

"I see him, sir," Battle responded. "He's walking towards the street and talking on his cell phone. He was dropped off earlier so I would imagine that he's calling his brother."

"When will I hear from you again?"

"When I have something to tell you, sir. Good night."

Battle ended the call. Jacob glanced towards the mantle, seeing Jessica's beautiful face staring back at him, her body shrouded by her graduation gown. He wondered if she was watching him, applauding him for finally avenging her death. He imagined that she was.

The Trap

Michael Battle remained beside the elderly oak tree that marked the start of Moore's property. With no light overhead, the thickness of the tree trunk and a row of bushes to hide him, Battle watched Sam Winchester without any fear of discovery.

The younger man slid his phone back into his pocket and headed for the street. He didn't look around as he walked. With slumped shoulders and bowed head, he looked like a picture of despair and Battle smiled. A depressed subject was easier to break down.

Battle thumbed his radio twice, the signal arranged between him and his men to verify that they had the right man in sight. No one moved in yet. They waited for the conspicuous Impala. With a rumbling engine and loud music pouring from the interior, it arrived, piloted by Sam's shorter and fair haired brother.

Battle thumbed his radio again. This time the three strokes sending static over the lines brought his men from two sides. Sam noticed them first.

"Dean," he said, alerting his sibling.

To his credit, the older Winchester recognized the danger just from that one word. He opened his door and slid out with a handgun ready. Sam spun towards the threat to his right while Dean spun towards the left.

Battle's men attacked. Eric and Scott Balin descended on Sam using their well-honed skills. Sam blocked their blows effectively for the first few moments. He dropped Scott with a sharp kick then pivoted towards Eric. He used his impressive reach to keep Eric from landing any punches. With a loud curse, Scott withdrew a stun gun from his belt and rammed it forcefully into Sam's leg. An electrical arc shined out from Sam's thigh and he yelled out as he lost coordination. Once he went down to one knee, Eric punched him in the cheek and Sam fell on to the pavement. The Balin brothers worked quickly to get him on to his stomach and bound his hands with plastic ties.

Dean Winchester contended with three more men and surprisingly managed to take two of them to the ground before Battle stepped in. Even with his considerable size and skill, it still took the four of them to wrestle the older brother down. Battle grabbed a syringe from his pocket and jammed it into Dean's neck as soon as the man landed on his stomach. Dean yelled out in impotent rage but soon succumbed to its effects. They bound his hands in the same way as Sam's.

Eric Balin retrieved the van from a parking lot located at the end of the street. He pulled up and they all worked together to dump the Winchester brothers into the back. Both men were heavy. At well over six feet, the younger one took three of them to lift and move.

After they were lying in the back, heads near the front, feet near the doors, Eric and Scott searched them while Battle looked on. Cade Winslow and Joe Romero sat in the front of the van waiting for their signal to move. Charlie Rice had slid into the Impala.

Eric found a couple of knives and two guns tucked into various holsters and pockets located on Dean Winchester. Scott found a hunting knife in Sam's boot and a switchblade in his pocket but no guns. Battle guessed that the younger man wouldn't want to bring too much hardware to dinner with his dead girlfriend's father.

Once they had been thoroughly searched and relieved of anything that could kill or maim, the Balin brothers also confiscated their cell phones. Battle told them to take their belts and boots as well.

Sam started to regain consciousness just as they finished taking off his belt. The boots were still in place. Battle took another syringe and injected Sam in the neck. Sam jerked forward then fell back, passing out almost immediately.

"All right, boys, we've accomplished the first step," Battle said.


	3. Chapter 3

None Goes His Way Alone

By Coffeemaniac

Not Slash

A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)

The Reveal

Sam stared at the metal ceiling with its heavy crisscrossing beams. He watched some minute dust particles dance when air blew from a small vent near the center of the room. Beneath his fingertips he could feel rough cement scraping blandly at his skin.

With an effort born of curiosity he ignored the nauseating pain in his head and used his abdominal muscles to force himself into a sitting position. With his arms bound behind his back, it was an effort to get that far. He rolled to one side and got his knees under him then pushed up on to his feet. The change in altitude exploded agony across the top of his head and he stopped to breathe through it.

No stranger to head injuries, he recognized the splitting pain and nausea. His brain had crashed into his skull again.

He found a dark, dank room surrounding him. With the exception of the unfinished cement floor, it was all metal from walls to ceiling with no windows or decoration to break up the monotony. There was no furniture either and no toilet or bathroom.

Tucked away in the ceiling recesses, Sam counted one display monitor and three cameras. The cameras flashed blinking lights at him. The monitor remained dark.

He still had his clothes but his boots were gone. Dingy white socks wiggled at him when he looked at his feet. He couldn't adequately check his pockets but he didn't feel the weight of any weapons he normally carried.

"Oh, yeah," he reminded himself verbally. He had been essentially unarmed to meet with Jess' father

The only apparent exit to the small room was a door that looked like it belonged in a submarine. Rounded and thick, Sam thought it might be a blast door though he didn't have any experience to guide him on that. He walked over to it, not liking the way his legs felt heavy and his body stuttered.

Pushing through the discomfort he turned his back to the door and started to feel around for the lever. The metal was cold as he wrapped his hand around the handle and shoved it down. It gave about an inch before meeting the lock inside the mechanism.

Sam swore as he released the lever.

He turned back around to study the door hoping to see something that resembled a lock that he could pick. But, there wasn't anything to break into.

Sam wondered if the room was soundproof because he figured he could call out and get someone's attention if it wasn't. Whoever grabbed him must want something so maybe he could find out what it was. And if he was lucky, someone might be careless or unprepared and he could fight his way out.

He yelled out, "Hello" and was surprised when he heard a creak and squeal of metal before the second syllable.

Given the fight that landed him in the cell, Sam doubted that he was dealing with the supernatural. Demons, vampires and shapeshifters tended to look human but were significantly stronger. Sam was certain that wasn't the case with his attackers. So he pulled himself up to his full height and prepared to face the human threat that walked through the door.

Three men entered and Sam recognized the two who had jumped him. Neither of them was in charge.

The third man was taller than Sam, wide in the chest with muscles bulging through his shirt. He looked like a walking cement block. The way he carried himself, squared and controlled, his posture demanded attention. His arms hung loose at his sides with no weapons clutched in either hand. And his relaxed facial expression said this wasn't a new situation for him.

"Hi," Sam said, somewhat surprised by the steadiness in his voice.

"Hello, Sam," the man answered in a deep tone. He was smiling but there was malice hiding in it.

The man stepped away from his cohorts before speaking again. "I'm sure you're curious about why you're here."

Sam shrugged. "Obviously."

"Then let me tell you. I've been hired to find out what happened to Jessica Moore on the night that she died."

Sam's insides jolted at hearing her name but he was careful not to react outwardly. "Our apartment burned down. Are we done?"

The man shook his head, smiling again. 'No, Sam. I mean what happened to her."

"Why? What more do you need to know?"

"The why doesn't matter."

"Who's asking?" Sam asked.

"Also doesn't matter. I understand that I'm a stranger to you so answering my questions is uncomfortable. And I understand that right now you think you can refuse. So, this is what we're going to do. I'm going to leave you here for a couple of days and then I'm going to come back and ask again. I think you'll be more willing then."

Sam forced himself not to think what might happen over the two days to make him more willing.

"I already told you what happened. My story isn't going to change in two days or two weeks. She died in a fire."

"Well, be that as it may. When I come back in two days, I'll have your brother with me."

Sam lurched at the mention of Dean. The two men flanking the stranger darted forward, grabbing him by his restrained arms. One of them shoved his leg into the back of Sam's knee. Sam grunted as they forced him face down onto the floor.

"There's nothing else to say," Sam yelled as he struggled uselessly against the arms holding him.

"I doubt that," the stranger said pointedly then changed back to his bland tone. "As I was saying, in two days I'll come back with your brother. He won't be in very good condition by then. A bit damaged, you understand."

"She died in a fire," Sam said, fighting to keep the panic out of his voice.

"And then maybe you'll tell me what really happened to Jessica."

The two men released Sam and while he squirmed on the floor to get his body back up, the three of them walked out. He reached the door just as it slammed shut.

"Damn it," he cursed.

After several minutes of stomping around, frustrated and angry, Sam stopped. He deliberately refocused his attention. He needed to find a way out and he needed it now.

Sam started with the door. Kneeling down in front of it, he studied the lever from below, above and from either side. He couldn't find a way into the mechanism. With his back to the door he pulled on it and pushed on it then kicked it with his sock covered foot. All he accomplished was getting a bruised heel.

Giving up on the door, he moved on to the walls. Patiently and carefully, he checked for hidden doors or windows, for cracks in the metal that he could exploit, for any type of mechanism that he could manipulate.

When he turned his attention to the ceiling he remembered the cameras and monitor. The idea that he was being watched gave him a bad feeling. The need for a display monitor gave him a worse one.

Sam stopped to rest. His head continued pounding away. A few aches and pains had joined the chorus, probably from the fight outside Jacob Moore's house.

Thinking to more basic needs, he noted the absence of a toilet and no sign of any access to water. Sam took that as a good sign. Someone would need to visit from time to time in order to keep the prisoner alive and that would give him a chance to escape.

The Leverage

When Dean initially woke up he flung into consciousness still fighting. Unfortunately, his arms and legs didn't want to cooperate, just his brain. He found that he was lying on a table, arms stretched and curled beneath the surface as if he were reverse hugging it. His legs were straight out and chained and his shirts were gone.

None of that extinguished the fight in him but desire and need don't always run hand-in-hand. Even on his best day, chains trumped Dean's attitude.

Taking stock of his bound limbs and bare chest gave him an uneasy feeling for a couple of reasons. First, obviously, the threat to him was alarming. Second, he had been with Sam, which probably meant that his brother was in a similar predicament.

Fueled by those thoughts, Dean hollered out. He shimmied around on the stainless steel table and listened to the chains jangle against metal. He shuddered at the sound.

Once when hunting with his father, a corpse had been possessed by a vengeful spirit just as the coroner started to cut. They had burst through the door in time to see the dead man dart up. The sound it made as flesh rattled metal was too similar to the noise Dean was making now.

He ignored the macabre comparison and continued looking for a weakness in the chains and yelling out a string of profanity that would make a Marine blush.

When all the noise he was making failed to force a confrontation, Dean settled back and listened to his heart beating while he took stock of the room he was trapped in. It looked like a standard basement with a low, wooden ceiling, musty smell and cement foundation for walls. If there were windows or stairs, they were hidden from his limited view. A partial wall separated Dean from whatever was on the other side.

Cold also seemed to be an issue. Every movement against the table sent goose bumps skittering across his skin when he hit a patch of steel that hadn't been warmed by his body. As his mind acknowledged the chill, he realized his arms and heels were aching from the constant contact.

"Awesome," Dean muttered before yelling out again to get attention.

For a long time no one came, long enough for boredom to lead to drifting in and out of light sleep. Once he had tested the limits of his bonds and summarily dismissed possible escape plans, there was little to do except wait for rescue, or for his captors to come to him. He couldn't control either of those things. He sent a psychic plea for Sam to be all right or to show up with bolt cutters, or ideally, both, and then he just waited.

When three men finally did arrive, Dean guessed that hours had passed. He didn't have a watch or natural light to judge time but his internal clock insisted that half a day was gone. He had tried calling out a number of times, most pressingly when his bladder started complaining but no one had come. He ultimately urinated right there on the table, furious and embarrassed at first, then as the cold grew worse in his wet jeans, he was just miserable.

He wondered vaguely if the whole point of the metal table was easy clean-up and then considered the loss of other bodily fluids that might be easier to deal with on a smooth, washable surface. He stopped that train of thought quickly and sent out another hope that Sam would show up soon.

The men approached and Dean sized them up with skills learned from his father as well as good instincts. The two younger men were brothers. They had similar facial structures, identical hair color and they stood so close that they were almost touching. One was a couple of inches taller than the other. The tall one sported a buzz-cut. The shorter brother sported waves that wrapped around his ears. Neither one of them spoke. The third member of the trio was not a relative. He was their employer.

"Dean, I need some information," the muscle-bound leader said. "Some details that Sam can provide. So far, he hasn't been willing to talk to me."

Relieved that it sounded like Sam was alive, Dean started to ask where his brother was but his voice came out raspy. He cleared his throat. "Where is he?"

"Here. Just not here," the man opened his arms to encompass the table.

"If you hurt him…"

"Let's not start out with threats. Especially when they're meaningless. Sam is fine for the moment but he needs to be encouraged to cooperate with me."

Dean felt his stomach tighten as fear laced through him. "What do you want to know? Maybe I can help."

"I don't think so. This is Sam's mess so he needs to clean it up."

"Then let me talk to him. I can convince him to talk to you if he really knows whatever it is that you want. What was that again?"

The man cocked his head with a knowing smile. "I haven't said."

"You don't want to?"

"Not at this time."

"Okay, well, that's all right. Just let me see Sam and I'll get it straightened out for you."

"Unfortunately, that's not going to work, Dean. I intend to use you to convince him, but in a different way. Now, normally, I prefer enhanced interrogation techniques over outright torture. But, when you're watching something on television, well, you need drama. Sleep deprivation, stress positions, isolation, these don't make good television. However," the man waved the brothers closer. The taller one forced Dean's shoulders down while the shorter one produced a hunting knife.

"Whoa, wait," Dean demanded. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I'm not cruel by nature," the leader said. "Only by necessity so I'm going to tell you what's happening and what's going to happen. My associate is going to cut a line through your bicep. It's going to hurt but it won't permanently damage the muscle and we're going to bandage it right away so there won't be any bleeding to death, all right?"

"Try it and I will kill you," Dean said.

"Then we're going to inject you with a cocktail. The primary ingredient is spider venom. Black widow, to be precise. The venom attacks muscle and causes cramping among other symptoms. The reason for the cut is to provide an injured area to increase the effect. I'm afraid I need Sam to see you in pain in order to push him along."

"You think I won't do it but I am going to kill you, all of you." Dean meant the words even if they were said partly to cover his fear.

The man smiled. "Well, you can try if the opportunity presents itself."

With a nod towards the brothers, the shorter one drew the knife through Dean's skin in a long, vicious line. Dean gritted his teeth and held back any sound. Moving more slowly than Dean would prefer, the taller one retrieved some bandages out of a box on the opposite side of the room. As blood pooled beneath his arm, Dean cursed the three of them, laying out threats of retribution and trying not to think about what was coming next.

The taller brother wrapped his arm efficiently if not gently. He pulled the bandages tight to stop the bleeding. Dean refused to react to the pain but it did hurt. He hoped that the main guy was just trying to scare him with the drug thing.

"Look," Dean said. "This isn't going to get you anywhere. Put Sam and me together and I'll get whatever information you want. The kid is stubborn. If you push him to the wall, he'll just push back."

"I don't think he'll be willing to risk you," the man said.

"Hey, we've barely seen each other in four years. We're not all that close."

"Now, Dean, do you really think that I haven't done my research? You practically raised Sam. Dead mother, absentee father, no real home to speak of. The only stability you two had was each other. Not only are you two close, I would hazard to say that nothing is more important than your bond with each other."

Dean twisted in the chains, seeking escape even while he knew it was useless.

The man smiled again as he pulled a syringe from his pocket. He put his hand on Dean's stomach, fingers splayed out while he watched Dean's face.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Do your worst, asshole," Dean answered while his chest tightened with fear.

The shorter brother had moved to the other side of the table. He grabbed Dean's head and forced it to the side. Dean held his breath, grunting as the man slid the needle into his neck. A moment later he withdrew it and stepped back.

"Some advice," the man said. "Tensing up increases the pain level. Try to breathe through it as much as you can."

He walked away with the brothers following him like good lackeys.

The first wave of heat swept up his torso like he was standing too close to a candle. Dean shifted instinctively, straining his twisted arms but also thinking that it was bad but tolerable. The second wave reminded him of a childhood accident when he left the gas on too long before lighting the pilot and the flame had flashed up his arm. The burn required an emergency room visit. He felt himself starting to pant as the pain grew worse, sweat beaded out across his body while he tried to adjust.

Just as he started to get some control over the fire licking through his belly, his arms and legs started cramping like the worst "charley horse" ever. Tightening more with every breath, his body felt like it was wrapped in a corkscrew and before he could stop it, the first scream escaped.


	4. Chapter 4

None Goes His Way Alone

By Coffeemaniac

Not Slash

A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)

The Wait

Sam paced around his metal prison until exhaustion forced him to stop and sit down. He pushed himself back against the wall so he could watch the door. At first he expected the stranger and his henchmen to return soon after they left. After dropping the threat against Dean and then observing Sam's distress, it seemed likely they'd come back and just ask about Jess again. They had to know he'd tell them anything to protect his brother.

But, they didn't come back.

The monitor in the ceiling didn't turn on either. The cameras that were likely watching Sam continued displaying their tiny blinking light but that was it.

When yelling for attention didn't work, Sam scoped out a place in the corner to use as a toilet. He picked something out of camera range or at least he thought it was which was less about modesty and more about hiding his attempt to keep clean. Ultimately that wasn't possible and he cursed at the discomfort of wet, smelly clothes.

He spoke to the camera hoping it had audio or that whoever was watching could read lips. He promised to tell them whatever they wanted to know if they'd let him see Dean.

It didn't matter that the memory of Jessica's death was still an open wound or that the truth was unbelievable.

He'd tell them that she was pinned to the ceiling. He'd tell them that a demon murdered her.

He shook his head. If the stranger was harming Dean then all that mattered was saving him. He would tell them anything, prove anything, even the impossible.

An ache along his shoulders and arms had started building noticeably a few hours earlier. Having his hands bound behind him for so long put pressure on muscles that weren't used to it. He had tried to roll his neck and shoulders to loosen them up but that stopped working some time ago. He wished he could do some cool contortionist thing and get his arms in front of his body but he didn't bend that way. If he did, he wouldn't smell like a urinal.

Sam leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Boredom had long before taken over and doing math in his head, or figuring out the outline of a term paper that he'd never gotten to write, could not keep his mind occupied. Sleep crept in. He knew he only drifted as worry over his brother repeatedly jerked him awake but he was also losing track of time.

With a sigh, he fought to stay conscious, hoping with every breath that the stranger would come back or that Dean would burst through the door. One or the other had to happen to deal with this mess.

He jumped awake when a scream tore through the room and he scrambled to find the source. Finally he found it on the monitor that had lowered from the ceiling while he dreamed. Blinking for focus, it took a moment to figure out what he was seeing. But, then his stomach dropped and fear jabbed as surely as a knife when he recognized Dean, shirtless and writhing as scream after scream tore from his throat.

Sam rolled on to his knees then pushed himself up. He walked to the screen as if he could get closer to his brother just by being closer to his image. The horrible anguish in Dean's voice blocked any other sense and, for a moment, Sam couldn't see past the noise to what was happening.

Then the details started filtering through, a white bandage on his arm, stark and bright against skin, bare feet squirming and kicking, and his face, stricken and twisted. His brother, Sam's brother, cocky and tough and brazen in everything he did, screaming and twisting in agony.

With nothing else to do, Sam rushed the door. He hit it over and over with his body, throwing all his strength into it while he yelled for someone, anyone, to hear him. He was so intent on getting through the door, the sudden, deafening silence followed by the monitor going dark and being pulled back barely penetrated his consciousness.

Then his shoulder and hip and leg registered their complaint and Sam stopped. He sunk to his knees, hurt and defeated, overflowing with fury.

All they had to do was come back and he'd tell them everything. But, they had to come back.

He turned to the nearest camera with its unflinching eye. He guessed they had audio because he could hear Dean but he didn't know for sure so he spoke slowly and clearly, "I will tell you what happened."

He waited and repeated the same statement over and over, praying they'd believe him.

Then time just passed, the way time does. Sam couldn't track it, couldn't judge how much or how little and nothing came to break the endlessness. He knew he was thirsty and hungry. His body ached from having his hands still bound and from the other abuses it had suffered. His mind never strayed far from Dean and the image of him screaming. But, nothing made the time move faster.

When promising to talk about Jessica gained zero response, he rammed the door again. He kicked the walls when no one answered the door. The stranger didn't come back and Sam finally sank back down because there was nothing else to do.

The Pressure

Dean shifted his body against the cold metal. He blinked and groaned as his senses caught up with his situation. Sweat coated his skin like a grimy paste. His throat felt like he'd been swallowing gravel. Exhaustion warred with relief as he realized that the pain had dulled to something more like an ache, much more tolerable than before but not quite gone.

The memory of the pain seemed to fade like a bad dream. He figured his mind was protecting him and he was glad.

Footsteps against cement forced his heart into overdrive. His body tensed painfully as he squeezed his hands into fists.

"Hello, Dean," the big man greeted. The other two, the brothers, didn't speak as the three of them gathered around the table.

"Miss me?" Dean asked, surprised when the sound was barely audible. He cleared his throat then wished he hadn't when it felt like a sharp rock was jammed in there.

"I was worried," the man said. "When you quieted down after all that screaming, I thought we had given you too much of the cocktail and perhaps your heart had stopped."

Dean didn't respond to that but the fear jolted up inside him.

"I gave your brother 48 hours to decide to speak with me and that means we're not quite finished with you yet."

"What does that mean?" Dean rasped.

The man nodded towards the brothers again. Before Dean could brace himself the taller one had gashed a new wound into his body. This time it was across his stomach and the detached part of Dean thought that it was shallower than the one on his arm. Just as they did before, they bandaged it immediately.

"Give me a minute," Dean said when he spotted the needle in the shorter brother's hand. "I just need a minute. Just wait. Let me talk to…"

The taller brother wrapped his hands around Dean's skull and shoved, bearing his neck again. The shorter one jabbed the syringe in and the poison started spreading through his blood stream.

"This will be very much the same as before except now, you have two wounds for the drug to attack. I don't think we'll need a third session because your brother is almost ready to tell me everything. That probably doesn't help much right now though."

"You're a dead man," Dean ground out before his muscles began curdling into themselves.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"You're a dead man."

Sam stared at the monitor, watching with a burning ache so deep he thought it might drown him. Dean huffed and squirmed and clamped his lips together but nothing was going to contain him. Whatever the needle contained overwhelmed his efforts in moments and Dean started screaming again. No words, no begging for relief, just mindless, gut-wrenching shrieks.

The stranger and the other two walked away from him and out of view of the camera.

"You don't have to do this." Sam yelled into the empty room.

He wiped his face against his shoulder. The hot tears of frustration, anger and helplessness made him furious. He needed to get out, needed to get to his brother.

Sam started over. He checked the door, examining it again from the top down, checking the hinges, checking the seal, looking for any weakness. From the door, he moved to the seams in the walls. The metal had been welded together to create the enclosure so those were the weakest points. He kicked at them with all his strength, enduring the bone jarring vibration over and over as he tested each one. Nothing rattled, nothing shimmied and nothing broke loose. Getting on his knees, he crawled along the floor, looking for an opening between the wall and the cement. He couldn't believe there was no way out. There had to be a way to save Dean. Nothing else was tolerable.


	5. Chapter 5

None Goes His Way Alone

By Coffeemaniac

Not Slash

A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.

A/N: I have not stopped to thank those who are reviewing, following and making this story a favorite. It's your interest and attention that makes this fun.

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)

The Villains

Michael Battle had paid and dismissed three of his associates once the Winchesters were secured.

Battle's partners, Eric and Scott Balin, remained on the job.

He met the Balin brothers a few years earlier while the three of them worked for an American security company providing protection for contractors in Afghanistan. Eric and Scott had just resigned from the Army and were looking for new challenges. Battle found them to be intelligent and efficient and willing to skirt legalities and company policy if the payoff was better.

Over time he learned they had been raised by an abusive father who may or may not have murdered their mother. They escaped their violent home when Eric turned eighteen. Eric purchased a fake birth certificate and social security number for sixteen year old Scott and the two of them joined the Army where they served for four years.

The three of them worked together for a while before Battle quit and returned to the states. He started his own business renting himself out to wealthy people with difficult problems. Six months later, when the Balin brothers came looking for work, he was happy to hire them.

The Winchesters and Jacob Moore were just another job in a long line of jobs.

Battle used the research provided by Moore to start out and employed his own contacts to pad his knowledge of Sam and Dean. He well knew that research and patience had always been the keys to his success.

After reading the histories of the Winchester brothers with their nomadic, motherless childhood he extrapolated that they would be completely loyal to each other. Even if Battle could have found their father, he doubted either one would break just at seeing him suffer. But, to protect the other, Sam and Dean would do anything. Battle was sure of it.

He could have just taken Sam and probably gotten some answers. But, depending on the boy's stubbornness that would take time and might not produce truthful results. By using Dean, Battle reduced the time factor and was essentially guaranteed honesty. Because if Sam didn't tell the truth or held back details, Battle would inject Dean again and by showing his potential for brutality from the beginning, he didn't need to convince them with words. They already knew he wouldn't hesitate. By having Eric and Scott assist with each injury and injection, he cemented reality that there was no ally for them to manipulate, no weak-willed traitor waiting to rescue them.

As he took a long drink from a bottle of water, Battle leaned forward in the padded desk chair and watched Sam try to defeat his prison. Color monitors displayed almost every inch of the small cell and he marveled at the young man's tenacity.

He found it interesting that Sam focused on searching for escape while the monitor in the cell continued to display Dean's suffering. In Battle's experience, loved ones tended to be horrified but mesmerized by the sight of torture. Sam stopped periodically to stare at the screen but he was clearly consumed with the hope of rescuing his brother.

As for Dean, the drug had plunged him into a nightmare struggle against his own body. His lips bled from where he had bitten them. His voice barely squeaked and yet he continued trying to force the screams out. Not that he was consciously aware of it but humans were conditioned for survival. When in great distress, crying out was automatic, a way to summon help, as natural as breathing. Given the intensity of the drug on his raw nerve endings, Dean was simply unable to stop his body's need to vent.

Battle flipped the switch on the control panel that triggered the monitor in Sam's cell to darken and withdraw back into the ceiling. He watched Sam curse and kick at the wall before sinking to the floor in despair. Battle took his cell phone out and sent a text to Eric.

'return to command central.'

A few minutes later, Eric returned and Battle told him to keep an eye on both brothers, but Dean in particular.

"If he starts to deteriorate, call me," Battle said.

In all likelihood, if Dean had a weak heart or an aneurism waiting to burst, he would not have survived the first injection. But, Battle didn't want him to die and there was no point in being careless.

Once Eric replaced him, Battle sought the outdoors. The night was warm and he wanted to stretch his legs. He climbed the stairs of the basement which opened up into a small kitchen. The appliances were high dollar but worn down from dust and disuse.

Battle walked outside to embrace the nice weather. He stood on the wide porch and smiled as he breathed in the fresh air. Taking a single cigar from inside his jacket, he bit the end off and inhaled the rich tobacco scent before lighting it. He sighed contentedly as the mild flavor slid down his throat. There was nothing like the taste and smell of well-crafted cigar.

He watched as Scott Balin pulled the van into the driveway of the house. He and Eric had worked a solo job just prior to this one and needed to see their client to finalize details. Battle didn't know or want to know anything about it. The Balin's were welcome to take other jobs as long as the jobs didn't interfere with their commitment to Battle. If they made a mistake and were caught doing something illegal, it was understood that Battle wouldn't help them.

"How're our guests?" Scott asked as he started up the front steps.

"We're an hour from the party," Battle responded.

They both understood they were talking about Sam Winchester's upcoming interrogation but it was always best to use code words when there was any danger of being overheard.

"I'll head down and finish up the decorations."

Battle nodded with a smile. He liked Scott and knew he was dependable.

Battle took another long pull from the cigar then snuffed out the tip and replaced it in his pocket. He walked back in the house.

The Truth

Sam wished they'd let him see Dean again. And he hoped they wouldn't. He needed to see him and know that he was still alive. But, watching him suffer was almost more than Sam could face.

He knew his brother. He saw the fight in him; saw the anger in every line of his body. But, that didn't replace the horror.

Out of frustration, Sam threw himself at the metal door again. His knew his shoulder and arm had to be mottled with bruises by now but the pain of that was nothing, not even worth considering. He slammed into the door again and called out.

The bastard who spoke to him said they'd wait 48 hours. It had to be well past that now.

Sick with thirst and hunger, he let his anger push him to keep trying to get attention. They couldn't ignore him forever, could they?

Sam crouched as a wave of nausea and anxiety passed through his gut. He bent over, closing his eyes. "He'll be okay," he whispered to himself. "He'll be okay."

He took a few breaths to calm down and used the wall for support to push himself back to his feet. He heard the clank of metal near the door and straightened up.

The stranger entered first. He smiled and Sam braced himself. Next came his henchmen supporting a wilted Dean between them. Sam rushed forward but the stranger pushed him back. Then he tried again but the stranger shoved him harder the second time and he stumbled, nearly falling backward.

"Stay there," the stranger said. "Your brother is fine."

Dean hung limply between the henchmen. He moved his head back and forth so Sam knew he was conscious but he wasn't holding his own weight and his breath came in gasps. He still wasn't wearing a shirt and the white bandages covering his wounds looked too bright.

"What do you want?" Sam demanded. "If you just want to know about Jess, we could have done this hours ago, days ago."

"I do want to know about Jessica but I find that everyone needs a bit of persuasion to really get to the truth."

Sam shook his head. "You don't…you don't understand. You're not going to believe the truth."

"Well, Sam, I suggest you try me. Because if I have to ask again, your brother will pay the price."

"No. Just…don't. Can you, at least, give him some water, let him sit down."

"He'll get everything he needs as soon as you tell me what happened the night Jessica Moore died."

"Okay, fine, okay." Frustrated and angry he blurted, "She was murdered. All right? She was murdered."

"By whom?" the stranger asked.

Sam hesitated then decided to go with the truth. "I don't know."

"Sam," the stranger said, sounding disappointed.

"No, really, I don't know. Whatever killed her, killed my mother. That's all I know."

"That's interesting," the stranger said. "Your mother did die in a fire."

The two men holding Dean hiked him up in their arms. Dean gasped.

Sam took a step but the stranger held his hand up. "I'm sorry. Dean dislocated his shoulder during the last treatment. I'm afraid he's in quite a bit of pain standing there like that."

Fury flooded him. "You son of a bitch."

"Start from the beginning," the stranger said. "Where were you the weekend that Jessica died?"

Sam couldn't think about anything but Dean and it took a moment to focus. With effort, he said,

"Jericho. I was in Jericho, California looking for our father."

"For how long?"

"The weekend. A couple of days. And then Dean brought me back. He dropped me off in front of our apartment."

"The apartment you shared with Jessica?"

"Yes, yes. I went inside and I called out for her but she didn't answer. So I went in the bedroom and I found the room on fire. So, I…I tried to get to Jess but I couldn't."

The stranger shook his head. "You're holding back details. Is that because you killed her, Sam?"

Sam stopped. The question hollowed out his insides. "What?"

"You murdered her."

"I would never have hurt her."

"What kind of knife did you use, Sam? It had to be something pretty sharp."

"She died in the fire."

"No. The coroner says there were slash marks on her ribs. Knife marks. What did you use to kill her?'

Sam looked between Dean and the stranger. "Check my history and you'll see that my mother died in a fire. Just like Jess. The details are the same. It was the same killer."

"You know what, Sam? I want to believe you. But, a killer who stalks you every twenty years? It's hard to accept. And if it was just a fire then why would the coroner lie? Why would he put a notation about marks on her ribs if there weren't any? Should I believe you over the coroner?"

"I don't know what the coroner saw. I just know that it was the same killer both times."

"You're still holding back. Maybe you need another day to think about this. I can't guarantee that Dean's heart will survive another treatment but we can find out."

Sam didn't know what to say. The stranger would never believe the truth but what else was there? Going against a lifetime of training, he said, "It was a demon. After it killed my mother my dad kept us traveling all over because we were looking for it."

"A demon. Like a bad person, you mean?"

"No. Like from hell. Like the devil's minions. A demon murdered Jessica. I don't know why it's after us but it probably slashed my mother too before she died. Find the report on her murder. It has to be in there."

The stranger sighed. "I'm surprised, Sam. I thought your brother meant more to you than this."

Sam shook his head. "No. No. Just look it up. Google it. Whatever. Check my history. Check my dad's history. I'm telling you the truth."

The stranger waved at his henchmen. The taller one turned Dean around then yelled out in surprise when Dean head-butted him. Dean threw himself backward and knocked the other man off balance. Sam took advantage of the distraction and rushed the stranger. Without the use of his arms he plowed into him with all his weight and sent them both tumbling to the ground.

Sam lost track of Dean's progress when the stranger shoved him onto his back trapping his arms beneath him. Sam bucked and kicked earning a couple of good grunts from the stranger but nothing moved the larger man. Instead the stranger pulled back and punched Sam in the jaw. Adrenaline still pumping, Sam scissored his legs around him and tried to twist but the other man slammed his palm into Sam's shoulder, flattening him, then shoved a knee into his groin. Sam's breath whooshed out of his body as his abdomen and legs flared in agony. Bile tickled his throat but he choked it back as he rolled on to his side and curled up.

"Leave them," the stranger's voice ordered.

Through eyes blurred with pained tears, Sam watched the three captors walk out the door and slam it behind them. He squirmed around, pushing back the pain and trying to find Dean. Thankfully, his brother was lying close by.

Sam pushed himself on to his knees and awkwardly crawled across the floor.

"Dean," he whispered, his voice rough with pain and thirst.

Dean made a soft noise. Sam wanted to touch him, to shift him, to check him but with his arms bound, the best he could do was look. He stayed on his knees and bent over Dean's back. His brother was lying on his left side, his right arm hanging limply across his chest. His eyes were blinking but his mouth was set in a thin line with blood seeping from his lips. He didn't look battered but the bandages were tinged pink.

Sam stiffened with a surge of fury. He shook his head forcing himself to breathe so he could speak in a normal tone. He didn't want to convey his anger and frustration to his brother. Quietly, he said,

"Dean, come on, man, say something."

Dean opened his mouth and made a weird noise, almost like when puberty made his voice squeak. He made a face, cleared his throat and tried again. He closed his eyes with a grimace but the sound didn't improve.

"Okay, okay, don't talk anymore. Your vocal chords are probably swollen. Just nod. Can you do that?"

Dean made a slight motion with his head.

"Where are you hurt?"

Dean gave him a brief but meaningful glare.

Sam chuckled at himself for the stupid question and at Dean for his surly response.

"I know your shoulder is dislocated. I can't fix it, man, not with my arms tied. Can you roll over, maybe try to sit up?"

Dean closed his eyes. Sam was ready to accept that neither of his requests was going to be possible. But, then stubbornness won out and Dean pushed himself on to his back. He groaned when his shoulder hit the ground then lay still just breathing.

"That's good. Just take your time. It's okay. You're okay," Sam comforted.

Sam leaned back, giving his brother some space. He cursed the stranger for leaving his hands tied for so long. He wanted to put Dean's arm back. It was the only thing he could do to help but that was denied him.

Dean just scowled and mouthed a profanity before using his good arm to push himself to sitting. He leaned heavily against Sam for balance while he shoved backward to find the wall. He hissed when his bare back hit the cold metal and lurched into Sam almost knocking them both over.

"Damn," Dean rasped.

"Just rest for now. I don't know when they're coming back."

"What's going on?" The words sounded like they scraped across gravel before finding air.

"Jacob Moore hired them, I think. The big guy, the one in charge, keeps asking how Jess died."

"He doesn't believe." There was no sound behind the words but Sam could read his meaning.

"It's a hard sell."

Dean closed his eyes, putting more weight against Sam. Sam just steadied himself, ignoring the pressure on his knees and the strain on his arms. If this was all he could do then he would do it.

"Got some water," Dean rasped. "You?"

Sam shook his head.

"You okay?" Dean's voice sounded worse the more he used it.

"I'm good. Just don't know what we're going to do. I gotta get us out of here."

Dean pushed away from Sam. Stubbornly he forced his uninjured arm through the space between Sam's arm and side. Understanding what he wanted, Sam pulled both of them up. He groaned at the pull on his muscles but then they stood unsteadily facing each other. Dean withdrew with a pained sigh.

Sam knew that his brother wanted to present a strong front. But, he also knew when the stranger and his friends returned, they'd be decimated. Their kidnappers were armed, trained and determined. They weren't handicapped by two days of torture, a dislocated shoulder and bound hands. They weren't suffering from thirst and hunger.

He needed a plan that would save Dean even if he had to sacrifice himself. Sam had to find out their end game. Had Jacob Moore ordered his execution if Sam said that he killed Jessica? Would he have Dean murdered as well? Whatever else he convinced the stranger of, Sam had to convince him that Dean was innocent.

The sound of the lock turning sent adrenaline coursing through Sam's body. When the three men entered, one of the henchmen was brandishing a handgun. He stayed near the door aiming at Dean.

The second henchmen, the taller of the two, walked up to Dean with a smile.

"You gonna kiss me?" Dean asked with a squeak from his damaged voice.

The man punched him in the stomach sending Dean to his knees. Sam bolted towards him only to have the stranger shove him back. Sam stumbled and fell, surprised when his vision shifted out of focus. He stayed on one knee breathing through it. The stranger yanked him back up and pulled him close so they were practically nose to nose.

"Tell me about Jessica Moore," the stranger said.

"What happens if I do?"

The stranger shoved him backward and Sam almost fell again. He figured the lack of food and water was messing with him.

"I told you what happened to her," Sam said. "I could say anything now and it won't be the truth. But, let my brother go and I'll tell you what you want to hear."

"What do I want to hear?"

"That I killed her. You decided before you even started this so fine, I'll say it. Put me on camera, whatever. But, first, you have to let my brother leave. I won't do anything until he's safe."

"I don't know how I gave you the impression that any of this is up to you but just to be clear, if you continue pushing me then I will give your brother another injection. He's been in agony for the last two days after a couple of minor wounds combined with the contents of the syringe. Imagine how he'll do with a dislocated shoulder."

"Look, I told you the truth. My mother died when I was six months old. She was in my nursery and a demon came into the house and killed her. It did the same thing to Jess. I don't know how to convince you. I can show you the lore on the internet. I can find my mother's autopsy, the police report, whatever you want."

The stranger frowned. He rubbed his chin and looked at his companions. The one with the gun shrugged. The one above Dean shook his head.

"Well, it's two to one that you might be telling the truth. Or, at least, what you believe is the truth. Obviously, no one believes that Satan is after you or the women in your life. So, here's the problem, Sam, even if you don't remember killing Jessica, you most likely did, and she deserves justice whether you're crazy or not."

Sam threw his head back with a groan. He walked towards the stranger then back away from him again. He only took a couple of steps in either direction while he fought his frustration.

"God, I didn't kill her. I would give anything to have her back. Anything."

The stranger shrugged. "I believe you, Sam. Just as much as I did before. I'm going to contact my client and then we can decide what to do next."

"i didn't kill her," Sam said, desperate now, knowing that the next time the stranger came in it would be to kill them. If Jacob Moore went to all this trouble then there was no way he'd let them go.

"All right," the stranger said.

"Please… my brother is not part of this."

"Shut up, Sam," Dean growled from where he was still kneeling on the ground. The "up" sounded like a needle dragged across vinyl.

"For what it's worth," the stranger said. "I think Dean is innocent."

The three men left the small metal room and the door crashed closed behind them. Sam forcibly pushed back the panic starting to pump through him. He wanted to scream, to cry, to be suddenly imbued with super-human strength and bust them out of there.

Sam had failed to save them. He didn't know what to do now.


	6. Chapter 6

None Goes His Way Alone

By Coffeemaniac

Not Slash

A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)

The End Game

Michael Battle phoned Jacob Moore's disposable cell phone to discuss the Winchester brothers. Moore told him that he was in a meeting and would call back within the hour.

Battle finished his call and sat down in the chair beside Scott. Scott had been monitoring the boys while Eric took a break. There was little mischief that the Winchesters could get into but Battle never liked to underestimate or make assumptions.

"I want to check out a location for another side job. Is there time?" Scott asked.

"Looks like it. I can man the cameras for now."

Scott patted his shoulder as he left the premises. Battle turned his attention to the brothers.

Sam was kneeling beside Dean again. He tried to roll his shoulders but the chains on his wrists held his arms tight enough that he wasn't able to get a good stretch. If Battle needed to take the restraints off, Sam was going to be in for a lot of pain getting those muscles back to work.

Dean sat hunched forward with his bad arm twisted slightly. From the way his eyes kept blinking and he barely turned his head to look at Sam, Battle guessed Dean was having trouble staying conscious. While the poison Battle used didn't cause any permanent damage, it was highly exhausting as it taxed muscles, adrenaline and nerves.

Battle had told the truth when he said that he believed Sam's story. Or more specifically, that he believed Sam believed it. And he was fairly convinced that Dean had nothing to do with any of it. It was probably Dean's bad luck to have a brother with paranoid delusions.

Every word Sam spoke centered on his fear of Dean getting hurt or killed. Battle had seen enough of these situations to believe that Sam wouldn't lie because he wouldn't risk his brother. However, the fact that Sam murdered Jessica and suppressed the act didn't matter.

All that mattered to Battle was his client's opinion.

Jessica's father would have to weigh the morality of having Sam killed. If Sam was damaged from the death of his mother and the militant upbringing imposed by his father then it might be better to dump him in a mental institution. Battle knew of one located in Turkey that didn't care where the patients came from as long as the doctors could test developing techniques.

Battle doubted that his client would choose that path though. He would most likely tell Battle to shoot Sam Winchester in the head and be done with it.

Dean presented a different problem though. If the older brother knew that Sam was unstable and did nothing about it then he was culpable, but not really guilty of murder. Battle couldn't tell about that because he hadn't spent any time trying to know Dean. His interest in Sam's brother was only in using him as leverage.

When Sam blamed the demon, Dean didn't disagree so that was probably something handed down to them by their father. Neither one could see how ludicrous the story was.

Eric Balin interrupted Battle's train of thought as he eased his long frame into the seat beside him.

"Anything new?" he asked.

"I don't have the volume on but watch the way Sam hovers over his brother. The boy hasn't had anything to drink or eat in more than 50 hours. He must be fatigued from that, not to mention the physical discomfort of being bound for so long. But, that's not what he's thinking about. He's completely focused on Dean."

"Sure. They're brothers. You said yourself they only had each other when they were growing up. Look at Dean. He's just as focused on Sam. Plus he's the older one. I'll bet he's been protecting Sam his whole life."

"Just as you protected Scott."

Eric shook his head, his face coloring a bit. "Don't compare them to us. They're a job. Nothing else."

Battle nodded. "Of course. I apologize."

"Where is Scott anyway?"

"He went to check on a location for the side job you're doing."

"Oh, yeah, good. You know you could branch out with us. We'd welcome the extra help."

Battle nodded thoughtfully but he knew, as did Eric, that he wouldn't take the mercenary jobs that Eric and Scott took. Battle was particular about his work and he liked being in charge.

"Hey, look at that," Eric nodded towards the screen.

Sam Winchester sat with his back to Dean while Dean used his good hand to examine the chains around Sam's wrists. The older brother reached forward and dug a hand into Sam's pocket. They two men squirmed and shifted until Dean finally pulled back with a paperclip.

"Is that a paperclip?" Eric asked.

"Someone didn't turn out Sam's pockets," Battle commented with an annoyed huff.

"Scott searched him in the van but Cade was supposed to really check him once we got here. That ignorant, lazy asshole."

"Let's go put a stop to it. Are you prepared?"

Eric pulled his .45 out and nodded. Battle led the way, typed in the code and waited as the locking mechanism released. He took his P224 handgun out then pushed open the door.

The brothers had already separated and Sam was standing over Dean. Dean had his hand clenched into a fist and wrapped that arm around the injured one, holding both close to his body. Battle stayed near the door with his gun extended and pointed at the younger brother.

"Back up a few steps, Sam," Battle ordered.

"Mr. Moore decided to kill us? Already?" Sam asked.

Eric placed the muzzle of his .45 about a foot from Dean's head.

"Back up and turn around," Battle said, feeling his adrenaline jump. There was something dangerous about these two and that shouldn't be the case with civilians.

"I'm not turning around. You can look at me if you're going to kill me."

"Sam," Dean said, a warning in his tone.

Battle sighed loudly. "Do you really think I wouldn't? Come on, Sam, do I seem shy to you? When, or if, I do kill you, I won't need to see your back to pull the trigger. Just turn around so I can check your restraints."

"Do you really think I'm helpless just because my back is turned?" Sam asked.

"Goddamnit, Sam. Just do it," Dean ordered though the sound lost some authority with the squeak in his voice.

Battle smiled. He liked these boys. But, he still had a job to do.

"Fair enough, Sam. Turn your back and get on your knees."

"Why would I do anything you want now?"

"Because you're still breathing. Where there's life, there's hope. For you and your brother."

A scuffle sounded behind him but this time Battle didn't turn. He had learned his lesson from before. Instead he rushed Sam. The boy twisted to one side then brought out a round house kick that skirted Battle's midriff. Battle bounced back in quickly, delivering a devastating blow to Sam's belly and then a second punch to beneath his chin. Sam went down to his knees then rolled to one side.

Behind him, Dean gave a pained cry while Eric cursed.

Battle glanced back finding Dean folded into a ball on the floor, his arms tucked into his body. His eyes were squeezed shut and the paperclip lay beside him, gleaming in the dim light.

Battle crouched next to Sam and checked the chains around his wrists. The metal remained secure; apparently they hadn't had time to pop the lock. Sam's wrists were raw and oozing blood along some deeper scrapes. Irritated, Battle yanked on the chain eliciting a grunt from the younger brother.

He stood up and motioned towards the door then helped Eric lift Dean off the floor.

"No," Sam demanded as he struggled to get up.

Working together, they dragged the unconscious brother out the door while keeping at least one weapon trained on Sam during the maneuver. Once they were through the door and it was locked, they lifted Dean more securely and took him back to the table.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The door clanged shut with a finality that left Sam feeling hopeless. There was no way out of the room. The stranger and his companions were almost certainly military trained. With Dean injured and separated from him and Sam handicapped from his bound wrists, he just couldn't see a way out.

When the boys were growing up, there were different times when one or both of them had become injured or trapped or separated from the family. But, during those times, Sam always knew that rescue was coming. If Dean was with him then he could count on their father. If he was alone then he could count on both of them. This was the first time in his life when rescue simply was not possible.

Dad was missing again and had no idea where they were. They hadn't been working with any other hunters. They only had each other and it wasn't going to be enough this time.

Exhaling out the flash of anger that filled him, Sam closed his eyes and tried not to think about their impending death. "Where there's life, there's hope," the stranger had said. The Roman philosopher, Cicero, had said it first. Even Sam's father had spit out that bit of advice as a rallying cry. But, for the moment, Sam's hope was fading.

The Complication

Frustrated by the lack of response from Jacob Moore and the useless tenacity of the Winchester brothers, Battle decided he needed some air. He left Eric to watch the prisoners and headed up the wooden steps, across the kitchen floor and through the living room of the abandoned house. He walked out the screen door to stand on the freshly painted white porch. Reaching into his front pocket he pulled out the partially smoked cigar just as the van pulled up on to the street.

As Scott Balin stepped out of the vehicle, Battle had a strange feeling overcome him. Something in the way the younger brother carried himself seemed different, more relaxed maybe. After spending so much time in the army and then in military settings, Scott always walked with his shoulders back and his hips planted. He never really seemed in a relaxed pose. A lot of people with military or police backgrounds possessed the same rigidity.

Scott almost looked like he'd been drinking. Battle composed his expression waiting for the younger man to draw close enough to assess him.

Scott stuck a key in the back door of the van. He pushed it open then reached inside. Battle glanced at his cigar while he waited. A thunk sounded nearby. Battle drew back, looking up as another thunk followed by a piece of splintered wood startled him into action. He ducked, gaining little cover from the slatted porch railing and looked out to see Scott Balin stalking up the walk with an M11 pointed in his direction. Made by Sig Sauer, the M11 held fifteen rounds and was a favorite weapon among the military set. The one held by Scott still held twelve rounds and Battle had no cover.

'Traitor', Battle thought as he drew his own Sig Sauer, this one a nice, compact P224. It only held nine rounds but he intended to make them count.

He popped up in one sharp move, firing fast and Scott Balin fell off the porch steps with blood blossoming across his chest and forehead. Battle rushed down, prepared to fire two more bullets and finish the job.

Looking around to make sure Eric wasn't about to jump him, Battle reared back when Scott opened his mouth with a roar. Black smoke poured out as if someone had lit a fire inside him. The smoke spiraled forcefully into the air before it circled and returned. Battle thought it was odd that he could smell the sulfur of a striking match just before the smoke forced its way down his throat.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Eric Balin smiled as Dean Winchester cried out soundlessly when he moved his dislocated shoulder. He had been watching their captive writhe, fascinated by his horrified expression. Surprise as much as pain twisted Dean's features like he couldn't believe this was happening.

Looking back at the view of Sam, Eric squinted in confusion. The younger brother was lying on the floor with his knees curled up and his head pressed to the floor. His body was taut and visibly shaking. Eric didn't know if the kid was having a seizure or the worse migraine in history.

Just as Eric pressed the call button on his radio to summon Battle he heard the sound of gun fire.

"What now?" he asked out loud as he grabbed his .45 and headed towards the stairs.

Another barrage sounded off and he wished Scott was there to lend a hand. He couldn't guess who might be shooting but it was a safe bet that someone had come to rescue the Winchester brothers.

Eric made it to the kitchen before he saw Michael Battle walking towards him. Except Battle didn't look like himself. He was grinning. He was pointing a gun at Eric. And his eyes were completely black.

Eric backed up a step and slammed the cellar door. In a panic that he hadn't felt since his first fire fight, he slid the deadbolt into place and ran downstairs. Whatever was coming at him from the kitchen was not Battle. It was something much darker, a monster, it had to be. And even as Eric tried to convince himself that monsters don't exist, he couldn't stop seeing those black eyes. Devoid of emotion, devoid of life, devoid of humanity, those eyes meant the impossible.

In his varied escapades, Eric had heard a lot of horror stories branded as truth. From witches to vampires to the Jersey Devil, he'd heard men describe monsters who could kill, or steal your soul, or turn you into a zombie. Normally sane, intelligent men who believed the impossible simply because they'd been on the fringes of society, and they had seen things, and experienced things that normal people never would.

Eric had always dismissed their stories, just as he dismissed the Winchesters claim about demons. But, seeing Battle or something that used to be Battle, he couldn't dismiss it any longer. It was solid and real and inhuman.

Dropping into survival mode, Eric knew the most fortified place in the basement housed Sam Winchester. With a thick metal door and reinforced steel walls, it was the only place to stay until he could figure out how to kill whatever Battle had become.

He heard heavy footsteps coming. The time for decisions was over. He ran to the enclosure, pressed the code in the panel and pushed open the door.

"There's a problem," Eric said as he slammed the door closed.

Sam was sitting on the floor. Eric thought randomly that he'd seen corpses with better color in their face.

"What?" Sam asked.

Eric rushed him, grabbed his shirt collar and yanked him up. He shoved Sam hard against the closest wall and the kid grunted as the impact crushed his bound arms.

"There's a monster outside. It has black eyes," Eric heard something like hysteria in his own voice.

He watched the boy's eyes grow wide.

"It used to be Battle but it's not anymore," Eric said.

"What battle?" Sam asked and Eric shoved him again, angry that he didn't understand.

"Michael Battle, you idiot."

He stalked away from Sam, needing space to move. The enclosure felt horribly claustrophobic all of a sudden. He turned around holding the .45 at waist level.

"He's out there and his eyes are black." Eric emphasized the last word by slamming the gun down against his leg and then bringing it back up.

In an insanely calm voice, Sam said, "The only thing I know of that looks human and has black eyes is a demon. Is there a demon out there?"

Eric didn't know what he expected of his prisoner but he hoped for some Rambo type response and this kid didn't meet his expectations.

"I don't know, I don't know," Eric said and pulled his cell phone out with his left hand. He pressed the speed dial for his brother then swore when he got voice mail.

"Scott. Scott, I'm in trouble. The house is under attack. Don't trust Battle."

Eric shoved the phone back in his pocket.

He looked at Sam who was standing silently but watching the door instead of Eric.

"It'll have the memories of whoever it took," Sam said. "Does Michael Battle know how to get in here?"

Eric nodded slowly as he turned around to face the door too.

"Untie me," Sam said.

Eric glanced at the kid and shook his head. He didn't need to be worrying about getting jumped while he was worrying about the monster. He pointed his gun at the door. Whatever Battle had become, he was going to be bleeding from a lot of bullets if he tried to come in.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The demon inside Michael Battle looked around the basement curiously. The humans who had taken the Winchester brothers had clearly meant business. The demon could smell blood and urine and over all of it, the unmistakable scent of fear. He possessed the one that had arranged all of this at the request of Jessica's father and the demon wondered at the ways of men. The girl was dead. What did it matter now?

A noise, like something broken, interested the demon. He walked around a cement wall to find Dean Winchester tied down to a metal table with his eyes squeezed shut and his body rigid. He smelled bad and he looked worse. The demon smiled at finding him there. He hadn't pillaged all of Battle's thoughts yet and finding the eldest son of John Winchester, helpless and suffering, gratified him.

The demon stood at the head of the table and stroked Battle's hand through Dean's hair. When Dean looked up, his eyes grew wide and he tried to jerk away but the demon held tight.

"What a nice present this is," the demon said. "Dean Winchester tied up and ready for me like it's my birthday."

Dean stuttered out some words that the demon interpreted as "get off me" but that was really lip reading because his voice was gone.

"This body says the drug is out of your system. Isn't that good news?"

Dean just stared at him but he was clearly not focused.

The demon shook Battle's head. John's spawn was in a bad way for a human. He released his hold on Dean's head.

"You're lucky today, Dean. I'm not here for you. I'm here for Sam."

Dean thrashed weakly, this time it was easy to read the "no" on his lips.

"But, I'll help you," the demon said. He grabbed the chain securing Dean's arms beneath the table. Yanking hard and fast the chain came loose from the table with a crack that drowned out Dean's squeak of protest.

"Wow. You sound like Peter Brady," the demon said with a laugh. "You'll have to finish the rest."

Dean surged up with a burst of adrenaline but fell back just as quickly.

The demon wearing Michael Battle patted him on the chest before walking away.


	7. Chapter 7

None Goes His Way Alone

By Coffeemaniac

Not Slash

A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)

The Siege

When Sam's captor burst into the metal prison, the vision he'd been having had just started to fade. His head still felt like a jackhammer wanted out of his skull and Sam's vision was blurred.

He hadn't managed to make sense out of all of it but he did know that the man in front of him was on the short list to be killed.

Shaking with adrenaline and pain from getting slammed into the wall on top of the vision's after-effects, Sam forced himself to calm down.

"What's your name?" Sam asked.

"What?" The man didn't turn, just stood staring at the door.

"Tell me your name."

"Eric."

"Okay, Eric, we need to get out of this room. We're trapped in here."

"No."

"You're a soldier, right? Then you know that our position is indefensible. Get yourself together and open the door before it gets here."

Eric shifted, his eyes darting between Sam and the door. His fear drenched Sam making it difficult to stay free from it.

"Untie me first," Sam said.

"I already told you 'no'."

With trembling hands, Eric went back to the door. He didn't get the code right the first time and cursed while he tried again. Sam shifted from one foot to the other, nervously waiting for his first step outside the cage.

He really wished he had use of his arms but Eric was about one freak out away from just shooting everything in sight. He didn't want to push his luck.

Speaking slowly, Sam said, "We need salt and water and a rosary or cross, something blessed. Do you have those things?"

"Kitchen, maybe. What is that thing? Is Battle one of them?"

"A demon took his body. It's possession."

Eric stepped across the threshold and for a moment Sam wondered if it was a trap. Maybe the stranger and the others were testing him to see if he really believed in demons. But, watching Eric lurch towards the exit, pale and shaking, he dismissed that idea. Clearly the man had witnessed something he couldn't explain.

Sam followed close behind. He could smell sulfur and blood. His stomach flipped thinking that Dean was out there someplace. If the demon found him…he didn't finish the thought.

He looked around the space that had been a secret from him. It looked like a basement; all cement foundation surrounding a furnished room. He recognized some of it from his vision. There was a table set up with monitors and Sam noticed the display of his prison. A couch and a small coffee table sat a few feet away. Wood beams set floor to ceiling were placed in their load-bearing positions to keep the house from collapsing.

Sam searched with his eyes as he moved towards the far wall and the wood stairs set there. He could see Eric doing the same thing.

"Get to the kitchen. Bring back the salt and a container of water," Sam whispered.

"What about the, uh, cross, or whatever."

"Get that too, if you can. I can still bless the water without it."

"Can you do a, you know, an…exorcism? Get Battle back."

"Yes," Sam assured him. He didn't want to tell him that the victim of a possession rarely gets saved. It was better to let him hope and come back with the supplies than just abandon Sam and Dean to the demon.

"Where is he?" Eric asked just before he gasped.

Sam stopped and jumped behind one of the wooden pillars. With his back to it, he focused on listening. Eric had disappeared in less than the beat of his heart.

The voice of the stranger, of Michael Battle filled the basement. It was his voice, but not, as it sang, "I killed your bro—ther."

"No," Eric yelled out and Sam knew that the demon wasn't talking about Dean.

When more than a moment of silence passed, Sam dared a peek from behind his useless hiding place then jerked back again when Eric skidded across the floor.

His body was sitting and his arms were flailing as Eric collided against the metal wall of Sam's prison with a curdling crack. He slumped over, his neck twisted to a deathly angle.

Sam held his breath. His vision had come true.

He peered out from around the pillar, first one side and then the other. He didn't see "Battle" but he did see a threshold that led to another room.

Knowing the demon had to be close Sam crept around the pillar heading towards the next room. As he crept across the floor, hoping to find his brother, Sam kept a look out for a weapon, preferably a big knife or an axe. A bullet wouldn't stop a demon but taking its head would do the job. How he intended to wield an axe with his arms still bound he didn't know.

He could hear the hum of electronics and his own footsteps against concrete. He could hear the faint sound of metal jangling but didn't know what that might be.

Seeing the steps at the far end of the room, he made his skeletal plan. He needed to check the next room, hopefully find Dean, and then make a fast escape. And find a big knife, he reminded himself.

"Sammy," the deep voice of Battle taunted and Sam turned around.

The demon inhabiting Battle's body casually lifted his hand. A push of energy sent Sam flying backward. He hit the edge of a table sending monitors crashing to the floor. He tucked himself into a ball as glass and sparks showered him. He rolled away from the debris, surprised when dizziness blurred his vision. He swore as he awkwardly forced his body to start moving. Just as he reached his knees the demon shoved a hand under Sam's arm and drew him up.

For a moment, Sam's legs dangled above the floor, his eyes watering with pain, but the demon set him down with a menacing smile.

Black eyes flooded Battle's natural color as the demon said, "You shouldn't fight me, Sammy, I'm here to save you."

Breathless and angry, Sam asked, "Why…why would a demon save me?"

"There's no fun if I tell you everything."

The demon released Sam's arm and took an appraising step backward.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…" Sam began the exorcism quickly.

The demon's hand flew up in a blur swinging back across Sam's head. Sam's body spun, out of his control, and landed a couple of feet away. As he rolled on to his side, he continued the de-possession spell.

"omnis satanica potestas, omnis…"

The demon cried out in rage but Sam heard pain too. It was affecting him. The demon rushed forward trying to land a kick to Sam's head. Sam twisted to avoid the blow but he collapsed on one side when his shoulder took the impact. Struggling to keep going, he said,

"incursio infernalis…"

"No," the demon cried out and reached down to pull Sam up. He grabbed him around the neck, cutting off Sam's breath and words. Sam squirmed in the tight grip but there was no comparison in strength. He started to lose consciousness when another voice seeped into his blackening view.

'"adversarii, omnis legio…"

The demon arched backward with a scream and his strangling hold loosened. As Sam sank to his knees, black smoke blew past him with a sound like rushing air.

He shook his head trying not to pass out when Battle landed in a heap beside him.

"Sammy." A strong hand wrapped around the back of his neck and Sam looked up into the anxious face of his father. "Are you all right?"

Sam coughed, trying to get air back into his starved lungs. He cleared his throat, his eyes still watering after the demon's death grip and asked, "What are you doing here? How did you find… Have you found Dean?"

"Yeah, I found him. He's okay, Sam."

His father helped him stand up but they both rocked under his unsteady balance.

"Where is he?"

"Right there." John pointed across the room and Sam found his brother hovering unsteadily on the other side of the room.

Relief flooded through Sam making him weak. Dean looked like he was barely staying on his feet but he was alive and not possessed.

"How did you find us," Sam asked.

"I'll explain everything," John answered. "But, we need to get out of here. Can you walk?" Sam nodded. "Then help me with your brother."

"Can you?" Sam shifted his back towards John indicating his arms.

John turned him then cursed. "Hold still, son."

There was a tug and his arms fell forward like the limbs of an untethered puppet. Burning pain exploded through his joints and muscles, driving Sam to his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut and couldn't hold in the moan while his body slammed him with agony.

John knelt in front of him, supporting his weight while he breathed through the pain.

Sam gradually became aware of his father firmly rubbing his shoulders and upper arms, trying to get the circulation back. He took long breaths but he couldn't get himself to move. Too many traumas on top of no water or food, and his body simply refused to cooperate with him.

He cursed as a thousand hot pokers jammed into his limbs adding new agony. He had experienced the "pins and needles" of a waking hand or arm but it was nothing like this.

Then, just as he thought he might pass out, the pain started to fade. Gradually, he could feel it backing away, releasing him from its grip and he took more long breaths. His arms and shoulders started feeling tired, achy and heavy but the paralyzing agony fled.

"It's okay," he pushed out breathlessly, shifting away from his father's ministrations. "It's better."

John sat back studying Sam's face with a familiar intensity.

"We'll have to wrap those wrists later. You're going to want ice and heat to deal with the swelling."

Sam nodded. He already knew but he couldn't deny that it was nice having his father take care of him.

John stood first. He helped Sam up next groaning with the effort. In other circumstances, Sam thought he might have teased him about that. Instead he noticed Michael Battle lying close by.

"What about him?" Sam motioned towards Battle.

"Can you help Dean? I can get him."

Sam shook his head ignoring how the motion irritated his shoulders. "He's been holding us here. He tortured Dean."

"He was possessed," John said.

"No. He wasn't. Not then."

His father stopped, his whole demeanor changed as he pulled himself up to full height and his lips thinned. He took a step towards Battle who was starting to make small movements.

"Dad, Sam," Dean rasped with a wince. He was standing much closer apparently managing to cross the room on his own. His voice was still almost soundless. "We gotta go."

Sam nodded and weakly grabbed his father's arm, pushing him towards Dean. He put Battle out of his mind for now. The most important thing was getting Dean out of there before more demons showed up.

The Story

Dean loved the sling holding his arm immobile. He loved the bed he was sitting on. It was soft and comfortable. Even his clothes felt great. And he thought he smelled really good.

After icing down his shoulder, his father had forced the joint back into place and Dean thought maybe his father was the greatest human being ever. He looked at Sam who was sitting quietly on the other bed and was overcome by affection for his little brother too.

"You guys are the best," he said. His voice sounded weird but the ice chips felt wonderful on this throat.

"Thanks, Dean. It's nice to be appreciated," his father said.

"Well, we do have the best drugs," Sam said and Dean grinned at him.

His father smiled when he came over to sit beside him. Dean missed hunting with him. They used to laugh a lot when they were hunting together, even after Sam left.

A wave of sadness passed through Dean. He wiped at his eyes.

"I think we may have overdone it," his father said and patted Dean's leg.

Sam used a straw to suck water out of a bottle. There were bandages around his wrists and apparently his arms hurt when he tried to lift anything. When he spoke his voice wasn't as soft or encouraging as Dad's.

"How did you find us?"

"I was following a lead that the demon was here."

"_The_ demon?"

"Yeah. I didn't know you boys were involved until I found the Impala parked in the garage behind the house. When I started searching for you I found one dead guy on the porch so I just kept looking until I reached the basement."

Sam sighed. "I can't believe it was dumb luck."

"It's a first," Dean said. He held up the index finger on his good hand to illustrate.

"Why were demons interested in you this time?" his father asked.

"Looking for Sam," Dean answered with a grin, glad he could contribute.

"I don't know," Sam said. "It said it was rescuing me."

Dad rubbed fingers over his eyebrow. "That can't be good. And what about the kidnapping in the first place? You're saying that wasn't related to the demon?"

"Her daddy doesn't like us," Dean said softly, hoping only his father could hear him.

"Dean, go to sleep, rest your voice" Sam said. Dean just sat up straighter. He didn't want to sleep. He liked being there with Dad and his brother.

"Jacob Moore, Jessica's father, thinks we…murdered Jess," Sam said. "He sent those other guys after us. They were using Dean to get me to admit it."

"Son of a bitch," Dad said and stood up. Dean wished he'd sit back down. He missed having him close by.

"I know," Sam said.

"What are you going to do about it?"

Sam shook his head. Even drugged, Dean could tell when Sam didn't have any good answers.


	8. Chapter 8

None Goes His Way Alone

By Coffeemaniac

Not Slash

A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)

The Decision

When Dad left again, Sam argued that he stay and Dean defended his decision to go and the three of them parted ways. Once more, Sam was the dissenter in the family, but Dean knew that he thought he was the only one making sense. After Dad pulled away, Sam went inside while Dean watched from the doorway of their hotel room until the taillights of the black truck disappeared. He wished it could be different.

He walked back inside and took off the sling that he'd been wearing for the last two days. His arm protested but he needed to work it back into action.

While Sam looked up with a disapproving frown as Dean tossed the sling on to the bed, he didn't comment. Neither one of them wanted to argue. Besides, Sam had abandoned his ice bucket and heating pad the day before.

Dad had spent the better part of their time together looking for more demon signs in the area. He called his contacts and searched the internet and scanned newspapers. He finally decided the demon activity that he'd been tracking had dispersed. They didn't know whether demons came to town to rescue Sam or if he was just a side note in some other plan. But, they all felt confident that the immediate danger had passed.

Once that was determined, Dean knew his father would leave. And John didn't disappoint. It didn't matter that Dean understood why and supported him in the decision, it was still painful to have him go.

"Now, what?" Sam asked from where he sat at the end of the bed.

"Now, you have to decide what to do about Jacob Moore," Dean answered as he settled across from him.

"Well, I'm not going to kill him."

"I don't want you to kill him."

His cheeks reddening and his eyes narrowing, Sam stood up. "He can't get away with this. What they did to you, I can't let it go."

Dean nodded, holding on to his calm in the face of Sam's anger. "What they did to both of us. And there's a chance he might try again."

"I don't think he'd…"

"He's a grieving parent, Sam. You don't know what he'll do."

Sam sat back down abruptly as if his legs couldn't hold him anymore.

"Jess wouldn't want me to hurt him," he said, softly.

"But, you have to do something."

Sam dug his phone out of his pocket. He held up a finger when Dean started to question who he was calling.

"We need to talk," Sam said then, "That's fine. Some place public is better for both of us." Another pause and then, "Starbuck's on Sand Hill Road. I'll be there at four."

Sam cut off the call. "Okay, I'm meeting him today."

"What are you going to say?"

"I don't know yet."

"Well, you got a couple hours to think about it."

Sam gave a bleak laugh and Dean turned a questioning gaze at him. "What?" He asked.

"I was just thinking that I wish Jess was here to help me with her father."

"Yeah, well, that's kind of the point, isn't it?"

Sam nodded as he stood up. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

"Where you going?"

"Relax, Dean. Just clearing my head."

Sam walked out but Dean didn't relax until he came back an hour later.

The Confrontation

The familiar green logo known by Starbucks fans everywhere stared sightlessly from the glass doorway. Sam always thought the mermaid siren was a bit grim since sirens tended to lure unlucky sailors to their death. He suspected the Starbucks purpose was to lure patrons in to feed their caffeine addiction and feel "hip" doing it.

Dean sat in the driver's seat with both hands fisting the steering wheel while he looked around the parking lot for a trap. As far as they knew, Michael Battle had survived his possession so there was always the chance for a repeat kidnapping. Sam doubted the likelihood but Dean pointed out that they didn't deal with likely, they dealt with unexpected.

A light wind kept the temperature from being too cool. Heavy clouds gave the impression that it was later than mid-afternoon. Sam could smell the ocean mixed with the aroma of coffee and a nearby hamburger stand. It reminded him of sitting on the hood of Jess's car while she leaned against him and he was surprised by the stab of loss.

"I'm going to head in," Sam said.

"We're going to head in," Dean corrected.

"I thought we had this settled."

"Just going to make sure he didn't bring company."

"He's not going to try anything here."

"Sam, if I wanted to kidnap somebody from a public place, do you know what I'd do? I'd stick a gun in your ribs and threaten to kill everybody if you didn't stay quiet. And then I wouldn't take you out the front door, I'd take you out the employee door in the back. So, yeah, I'm going in with you. Deal with it."

Sam slammed the passenger door as he stepped out. He didn't need a babysitter even if Dean was right about the scenario. Sam had already imagined that Battle could be sitting someplace with a sniper rifle, just waiting to pick him off as soon as he was in the open.

He found himself holding his breath as they walked towards the entrance.

Dean pulled open the glass door allowing two pretty coeds to leave. Both were blonde and wearing jeans, one donned a nylon Stanford jacket while the other wore a form-fitting white v-neck. The two women smiled at Dean as they passed him then noticed Sam.

The one wearing the Stanford jacket said, "Wow, two in a row."

Her companion giggled as they walked by.

Sam noticed that after initially acknowledging them, Dean's attention had centered on the inside of the coffee shop. Idly he thought his brother must be really worried if he didn't stop to fully notice the girls.

As Sam caught up, Dean nodded towards the back window where Jacob Moore sat at a free standing table. With a grim expression he wrapped both hands around the drink sitting in front of him. Sam looked around for Michael Battle or anyone who looked more like military than a college student or harried executive. The other six or so people in the restaurant seemed like they belonged.

Dean didn't speak. He pulled out a chair from an empty table and positioned it so he'd be able to watch the front and back entrances as well as Moore.

The older man didn't flinch or look away and all Sam could see was rage on his face. Sam clutched the 9mm in his pocket as he sat down across from him.

"I didn't hurt her," Sam said.

"That's what I've been told." His voice sounded surprisingly calm given his reddened cheeks and narrowed eyes.

Sam cocked his head, not expecting that.

"The man I hired says you didn't murder her. He says a monster, no metaphor, a monster murdered her."

"Yes," Sam said.

"I don't believe in demons."

"It's still the truth."

Moore shook his head. "You may not have burned her alive but you still killed her. You do know that."

Heart pounding, Sam flinched at the fury in his voice and the venom in his words. Sam wanted to get up and walk out. He didn't want to hear anymore.

"Something…something was after you. You opened the door and let it near my child and you left her alone to face it. You knew and you left her alone."

Sam shook his head, denying the accusation as much to Jacob Moore as to himself. "I didn't know."

"Yes, you did. It killed your mother and then you let it kill my daughter. You may not have set the fire or ripped her open but you did kill her."

"I didn't. I wouldn't have left her. " The words sounded weak and meaningless in Sam's ears.

"Don't. Just…don't."

Sam fought the tears burning the back of his eyes. He had dreamt of her death. He had known there were monsters. And he had still left her to die.

Hearing it out loud and seeing the rage on Moore's face intensified the horrendous guilt already pulsing through him and made it unbearable. Moore's whole body shook with anger and Sam's body shook with grief.

"I won't kill you," Moore said. "I won't send anyone else to kill you," His eyes looked like marbles, glassy and hard as he continued. "I can't bring her back and I can't stain her memory with your blood. But, know that you will burn in the deepest pit of hell for what you did to her."

"I loved her," Sam managed to choke out.

Jacob Moore stood. The sudden move jarred the table rattling the napkin dispenser. By the time Sam looked up, Jessica's father was already pushing open the exit door. Outside, on the opposite side, Dean stood waiting.

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Dean had remained quiet, glancing between the doors and the patrons back to Sam and Jacob Moore. The older man blared anger as clearly as if he were screaming. Dean could practically see him vibrating with suppressed fury. But, despite that, it became clear very quickly that he was not there to hurt Sam. Or rather, was not there to injure Sam. He was there to shred him from the inside out.

But, Dean didn't interfere. He allowed the exchange even while he watched Sam shrink into himself at the vengeful accusation. It was agonizing to watch but he owed Sam the respect of letting him deal with it, even if every fiber of Dean's body wanted to wrench the neck of the sanctimonious bastard who was hurting his brother.

When Moore abruptly stood up, Dean thought for just a moment that maybe he had misread the situation. Maybe Moore was going to make a physical attack. But, instead the older man spun away and headed for the exit. Dean rushed out the opposite door and met him on the other side.

Moore didn't recognize him right away but something must have clicked because he straightened his shoulders with an angry glare aimed at Dean.

"You can put that away," Dean said. "Your 'mad face' isn't going to scare me."

"The brother," Moore said with a touch of snide in his voice.

Dean noticed Sam coming out the door so he held up one hand to let him know everything was all right but Sam didn't stop.

"Dean," Sam said.

Dean ignored him. He focused all his attention on Jacob Moore.

"What you said to my brother just now, what you did to both of us ends here. Do you understand me?"

"I already said I wouldn't…"

"Uh uh, no. Not good enough. It ends here. The only reason you're still alive is because of Sam. But, that won't protect you from me. Don't even think about doing something again. Go home and be sad or angry or whatever, but if you ever try to hurt my brother again, I will end you."

"Don't worry. It's over."

"I'm not worried. You're the one that needs to be worried."

"Enough," Sam said. "That's enough, Dean. He understands." He looked at Moore. "Don't you?"

"I do," he answered stiffly.

"You should go," Sam said.

Moore turned away and Dean was satisfied that he was in a hurry to get away from them. They both watched until he climbed into his Bentley Continental and drove away.

"Dean, it was over," Sam said, still staring after the luxury car.

"No, it wasn't. He ripped you apart in there and you let him."

Dean walked away, anger spiking though him.

The Fall-Out

Sam fully expected to have the brewing argument as soon as he slipped into the passenger seat of the Impala. But, Dean turned up the radio instead and headed back to the hotel.

Sam wanted to be as angry at Dean as Dean was at him, but he couldn't find it. Guilt and grief churned relentlessly, overwhelming his effort to push outward. Instead Jacob Moore's words crashed through him, drowning him. And Moore didn't even know about Sam's dreams.

He cleared his throat, fighting the crushing sadness, determined not to let his emotions spill out. '_It killed your mother and then you let it kill my daughter.' _Sam turned to face the side window, trying hard to hide his despair.

He had dreamt of her death. He knew what waited in the dark. He knew something horrible had killed his mother even if he hadn't known exactly what it was. And he had still left Jess alone. Back then he didn't know that his dreams were prophetic, he hadn't met Meg yet, hadn't known that his family was targeted. It just never occurred to him that something would come for Jess.

Sam cursed silently. He should have known. He should never have left her. Maybe he should never have started a relationship with her. His breath hitched on the last thought.

Could he have saved her by never loving her? What was he supposed to do with a thought like that?

"Sam? Just stop it." Dean's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Stop what?" He demanded, glaring at his brother.

"You didn't kill her."

"I should have protected her."

"You can't take it on yourself because her father needs someone to blame."

"I dreamed it, Dean. I saw her die before it happened."

"Yeah, Sam, it was a dream. You didn't know it would come true. He doesn't even know that part, right?"

Sam didn't answer immediately as he re-played his brother's words.

More forcefully, Dean said, "Right? You didn't tell him about your dreams, right?"

"No, of course not."

Dean exhaled, clearly relieved. "He's just a sad old man looking for someone to blame. But, it's not you. It isn't."

Sam shook his head. "I didn't save her."

"We can't save everyone and I know that sounds trite but it's still true."

"She's not just some random victim."

"I didn't mean it like that." Sam heard the irritation in Dean's tone and knew he deserved it. Dean was trying to help and that was a cheap shot.

In truth, they had already been through all this. He couldn't have known she was in danger. All he could do was exactly what they were doing; what Jacob Moore had almost stopped them from doing. They needed to find the demon that killed his mother and killed Jess.

"I'm sorry," Sam said.

"Don't worry about it. Let's just get back on the road and start working again."

Sam nodded. It was a good plan.


	9. Chapter 9

None Goes His Way Alone

By Coffeemaniac

Not Slash

A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.

A/N: One of the reviews I received asked if Chapter 8 had been the last for this story. For that reason, I'm posting another chapter this morning and letting those that are reading know that we're not done yet. There's still a couple of loose ends to tie up.

A/N: Thank you to all those who are reviewing, following and making this story a favorite. I think I'd still write no matter what, but your reviews make it more fun and interesting and I get to correspond with new people which is a bonus. I'd like to thank Guest Reviewer Queen Bee for her reviews. I appreciate them!

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)

The Revenge

Michael Battle leaned into the shade of his old Alero. Extra dark tint plus the tree overhanging the car hid his presence. At a glance, it would look like another empty vehicle parked in the hotel lot.

Despite the warmth of the day, he only cracked the back windows to let some air in. Heat had gathered around him but he wouldn't risk starting the engine and allowing anyone to notice the hum of the engine or emission from the tail pipe.

He flexed his hands restlessly as he watched the Winchester brothers park and go inside their room. Seeing them reminded him of the Balin brothers and that sent a pang of loss through him.

He could still see Scott mounting the steps, black eyes making him look evil, while he fired round after round. Battle hadn't hesitated to kill him. Aggression purchased aggression. His old C.O. in Afghanistan taught him that. After Scott crumpled, Battle's memory hazed out only to return with a horrible vengeance as he watched his hands release Dean Winchester from his bindings. The words he spoke made no sense and he couldn't understand what was happening. His body moved and his mind thought but none of it belonged to him.

His fingers felt Eric's skin, his ears heard Eric wheeze as his hand squeezed. Battle's eyes watched as Eric slid impossibly fast across the floor only to end with a sickening crack that punctuated his dying breath.

When Sam Winchester started speaking Latin, Battle remembered an intense pain and yet, despite feeling it burn, he was somehow cut off from it. And then there was choking and black smoke and screaming and nothing.

When he started to wake he listened to the conversation around him. An ingrained habit developed from living a life of caution, he concentrated on his surroundings before revealing consciousness. When Sam's father said that Battle was possessed, Battle didn't understand the words. Hours passed before it made sense.

Sam and Dean weren't psychopaths or misguided. Demons existed and one had used Battle to kill the Balin brothers in a siege aimed at freeing the younger Winchester. Battle didn't know why and he didn't care. Somehow that boy had summoned a demon to save him and regardless of Jacob Moore's wishes, Battle couldn't let that go unanswered.

Once he managed to figure out what happened at the house, Battle phoned his client. He couldn't give him a report on the impossible through a telephone line so he met with Moore in his office. It took hours to convince Moore that he wasn't crazy. It took seeing photographs that the police collected at the crime scene. It took finding the autopsy report about Mary Winchester and comparing it to the one about Jessica. It took an internet search into demons and Battle's own tale to finally make a dent in Moore's belief system. And even when Battle refused to take the second half of his fee and Moore decided to drop his vendetta, Battle still didn't think the other man really accepted his story.

He stared at the closed door of Winchester's room, noting that Dean pulled the curtain open a few inches but Sam was the one who looked outside from time to time.

Battle could sit and do nothing for hours and days and wait for the right opportunity if that's what the job called for. Like a cat waiting for a baby bird to fall from its nest, he could be physically idle while anticipation simmered.

Eventually the boys would split up. One would leave to get take out. Sam might take a run. Dean might go to a bar. But, sooner or later they would find their own space.

Battle could be patient until they did.

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Sam stretched out on the bed, not bothering to take off his boots or change his clothes. Face down and covering most of the mattress he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Dean scooted his way backward from the edge of his own bed and leaned against the wall with the television remote in his hand. After turning it on, he flipped channels for the next couple of hours, unable to find anything to hold his interest. He kept flashing to the way Sam's body practically collapsed under the weight of Jacob Moore's accusations. Dean had thought that after the last year, with all they'd done and all they'd learned, that Sam stopped blaming himself for Jessica's death. He was surprised by how quickly Moore had cut through Sam's armor to leave him shredded again.

Dean was amazed that despite the fact that Moore sent killers after them, that he sanctioned their torture, Sam still didn't stand up to him.

Irritated he flicked off the television and dropped the remote on the bed. He stood up quickly, grabbed his coat off the end of the bed and shrugged it on. Using the hotel stationary, he jotted a short message to his brother saying he'd gone out. He didn't add that Sam should call him when he woke. Sam would call or he wouldn't.

He left the note on the bedside table and ignored the protest his body made at moving again. His muscles still ached from the drug but he couldn't sit still any longer. He figured there had to be a bar close by and after a couple of shots, he'd loosen up.

As he walked towards the neon sign for the Sea King Tavern, Dean thought about the men who had kidnapped him and Sam. He knew the names of the dead due to some research that Dad did while they were healing. The brothers were Eric and Scott Balin, Army veterans and mercenaries. The police report said that one brother was shot to death and the other suffered a broken neck.

There was no mention of the third man, the one in charge. Dean figured he probably woke up after being possessed and high tailed it out of town.

Dean couldn't help wishing he'd had the opportunity to kill him. He hated making a promise and not keeping it. And if any human needed killing, Michael Battle was definitely the one.

Dean pushed open the glass door leading into the Sea King. Dark and mostly empty, Dean breathed in the smell of liquor and old wood. He glanced around finding a much too amorous couple at one table and a tired-looking businessman sitting at the bar. He took a seat away from the businessman and ordered a whiskey from the bartender who sported a bushy mustache and a neck tattoo that might have been a dolphin. Dean couldn't see it clearly and didn't care enough to try and find out.

He downed the whiskey in a swallow and ordered another one.

The burn across his tongue and down his throat eased away some of the anger. That's what he needed. Some distance to rationalize the last few days and try to understand Sam's position in all of it.

He swallowed down a third whiskey and took a moment to look at the only other person sitting at the bar. Dressed in a business suit with his jacket open and tie askew, he reminded Dean of the cliché version of someone who had been fired but didn't want to tell his wife. Dark haired and pudgy, the man stared into his drink, probably vodka, and twirled the glass making the ice clink against the edges.

Dean turned around to get a better look at the couple. The boy, younger than Sam, maybe not old enough to legally drink, had his hands cupped around the girl's rounded bottom. She straddled his lap and kept threading her fingers through his overgrown hair. Judging from her lacy skirt and cropped blouse, Dean guessed she was about the same age as the boy but her long hair kept her face hidden. She leaned in to kiss him and the two started trading tongues.

Dean turned around and found the bartender standing in front of him. He was leaning against the back counter with his arms folded and watching the kids.

"Maybe they should get a room," Dean said with a sardonic grin.

"Maybe not. That's my daughter," the bartender responded in monotone.

Dean nodded, trying to keep any reaction off his face. He hadn't expected that.

"I think that's it for me. Have a good night," he said, slapping a tip on the bar and sliding off the stool.

As he passed the young lovers, he took a last glance. He couldn't imagine watching that if it was his daughter. Not that he had a daughter, but he had a good idea of what he'd be doing to any boy who touched her like that.

As the cool breeze of evening swept over him, Dean experienced a revelation about Jacob Moore. At its core, Sam and Jessica had been that couple inside the bar. Moore must have seen them kiss and hold hands. Sam would never have mauled her in front of Moore like that, but still. Dean wondered at how difficult it must have been to see her with a man and to see her entirely adult affection for him.

In the most traditional sense, Moore gave his daughter to Sam, entrusted her well-being to him. And while she was under Sam's protection, Jessica was murdered in a mysterious way. Dean knew how he'd react if it had been Sam who was killed. Nothing would stop him from finding out who and why. Nothing would stop him from taking revenge.

Dean walked towards the hotel with a slight whiskey buzz thinking he had a better understanding of Moore's point of view. Maybe Sam had understood all along and that's why he couldn't work up the rage he needed to fight back against Moore's accusations.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam heard Dean leave but chose to remain silent about it. He didn't want to argue about how he failed to handle Jess's father. He didn't want to hear Dean's disappointment when he could see it so clearly in Dean's body language. Instead he accepted the reprieve and tried to sleep; hoping rest would put the whole thing into perspective.

His bruises and scrapes still ached when he moved the wrong way. His arms and shoulders still flared when he lifted anything heavy or just too fast. So, he chose the only escape he had from the physical and emotional onslaught of the last few days. Getting a break from the pain and from his brother seemed like a great idea he told himself as he relaxed against the mattress.

Just as he started to drift off, a loud crash sounded sending him straight into fight or flight. He reached for the gun sitting on the night stand and rolled up towards the noise. When he twisted to see what he was facing Sam cried out as the sizzle of a stun gun jammed into his side.

He flopped back down while a tremor knocked the gun from his hand. Feeling like a super-charged werewolf punched him in the side Sam tried to suck air in around lungs that felt too small to take it. His torso shook as if he was being slammed against cement and he had no control over his flailing limbs.

He lay on the bed twitching and staring at the opposite wall unable to make sense of what happened. He didn't have any sense of time but as his senses returned he shifted slowly on to his back. Gradually realizing he'd been attacked, adrenaline started pushing Sam to get up and find the danger. Like being caught up in a drunken stupor he threw all his energy into coordinating his body. He concentrated on bending then lifting then sitting. His head felt enormous and heavy as he tried to look around the room in search of whomever or whatever had stunned him.

Sam blinked water from his eyes as he focused his bleary vision on the stranger, on Battle. His heart wanted to pound faster and his breath wanted to grow harder but he couldn't manage the automatic response. His mind told him to stand, to fight, or run, but he couldn't force his body to obey.

"Five seconds is a long time with a stunner," Battle said.

That's true, Sam thought. Usually one or two seconds is all it takes to put someone down.

"You killed my partners," Battle continued. "I know you were trying to save your life but, still, they were my partners and I have to avenge them."

Sam played his words over in his head but they still didn't make sense.

"I don't know how you summoned that monster but I remember what it felt like to be its slave. I don't know what else to compare it to, but it made me do a terrible thing. It made Scott do a terrible thing too and I had to kill him because of it. And that's all on you."

Sam swallowed and tried to push words out. They sounded garbled and from the look on Battle's face, not understandable.

"I guess you're denying what you did. But, I was there. I heard it say that it was going to save you."

A tingling in his fingertips let Sam know that he was getting normal sensation back. His mind was gradually starting to clear too although that was taking longer than he wanted.

"I'm not going to kill you, Sam. There's a balance sheet here. I kidnapped you, made you desperate. But, you brought in a demon to fight your battle and that's hardly even. And you lived while my partners died. So, this is what I'm going to do," Battle withdrew a syringe from his pocket.

"This is the same thing I gave your brother, so it won't kill you. But, it is modified a little bit. It's a stronger dose and it'll stay with you longer. A good day or so without any relief and I bet you'll wish you were dead."

Energy spiking with fear, Sam drove up fast and threw an awkward punch. When that didn't land he plowed his body into Battle knocking him backward. Battle tripped over a bag and stumbled into the door. Sam staggered then rallied and attacked again using his size to replace his uncoordinated limbs. Battle shoved his arms between them and pushed back sending Sam reeling into the edge of the bed. The momentum propelled him sideways and he fell onto the mattress. He rolled off and landed on his knees. From his peripheral he caught movement coming towards his face and shoved his arms to protect himself. Battle's boot landed sharp against his elbows and Sam tumbled backward. He started crab-walking to put some distance between them when Battle landed on him. The weight drove Sam onto his back and took his breath.

Battle straddled him across the middle and landed a hard punch against his cheek. The pain flared through his face and Battle struck again. Sam tried to buck him off but another blow slammed his head to the floor. Panting and losing consciousness Sam closed his eyes as the fourth blow finished him.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Michael Battle jammed the syringe into Sam's thigh and depressed the plunger. He had never administered the cocktail to an unconscious person so he didn't know if the pain would wake him or send him further into oblivion. He couldn't stay to find out. People in neighboring rooms could be calling the police. Hotel management could show up to investigate the damaged door. Dean Winchester could return.

Battle lifted his sore body off the floor, surprised the kid had managed to fight back so well. He groaned and stretched and headed for the door. He needed to get out of there. He needed to find a new job and put the Winchester brothers and the Balin brothers behind him.

He never resorted to cruelty for the sake of it. He harbored no desire to see Sam suffer. He only needed to know that it was going to happen and that his partners were avenged.

Battle walked out, carefully closing the ruined door to make the damage less obvious. He turned towards his car and spotted Dean walking up the walk.

Even from a distance, the older brother recognized him. Rage twisted Dean's features as he reached behind his back, no doubt intending to pull the Colt .45 that he carried. Battle was faster. He drew his Sig and fired into the asphalt. Dean jerked towards the building as he brought his gun to bear. Battle fired into the ground again as he ran backwards towards the car. Dean rolled into a nearby car taking cover. Battle made it to the Alero and jumped inside. He shot one more round just to keep Dean from returning fire and sped out of the lot.

The last sight he had of Dean Winchester was to see him rise up from behind a dented Toyota as he pulled his gun back towards his body and tucked it away.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean watched Battle drive away while he caught his breath and tried to calm his violently pounding heart. Torn between following their tormenter and checking on Sam left Dean with no options. He ran into the hotel room, pushing the broken door aside and calling his brother's name. He stopped for only a moment when he saw Sam lying unconscious.

Sam's face shown dark with bruises. Blood seeped from an open cut above his cheek. Dean pressed fingers against his neck and exhaled with relief at the steady pulse. He ran his hands over Sam's skull looking for damage and found a couple of lumps but no open wounds. Finally he examined limbs and ribs looking for any sign of broken bones but Sam appeared whole.

Dean stood up and went into the bathroom. He turned on the cold water faucet and waited for the temperature to cool down. Just as put the grayish washcloth under the stream he heard Sam gasp.

"It's okay," Dean called out. "Just stay where you are."

Sam made another noise, something verging on a whimper and Dean stuck his head out the bathroom door.

"I told you to hold…" Dean's voice dried up when he saw Sam curling inward, teeth clenched in a grimace of pain.

He ran back across the room thinking it was a seizure. But, when Sam sang out with cry of agony, Dean recoiled unable to think of what to do. A moment later he wrapped Sam up against him, holding him while Sam stiffened and cried out again.

"What is it, Sammy, come on, what is it?"

"Venom," Sam bit out before curling again with a shriek. His hands fisted Dean's shirt with a death grip as he tried to bury his face in Dean's sternum.

"Please," Sam begged. "Make it stop." And then his body seized again. He screamed out and Dean hugged him tighter.

"Come on, come on, up, Sammy, get up. We gotta get up."

Dean slipped his arms under his brother's and tried to lift but it was like pulling dead weight except this weight was fighting him.

Dean grabbed his phone and dialed "911".

"911, what's your emergency," a female voice said.

"My brother was bitten by black widows, a lot of venom is in him. I need EMT's with anti-venom right now."

Sam screamed as his body stiffened. He threw himself backward banging his head against the floor.

"I'm sending an ambulance now, sir. I know where you are but I need the room number."

"Nine thirteen. Room nine one three," Dean said. "He's allergic. I need anti-venom for black widows, right now."

"Help is on the way, sir. Do you have access to a cold compress that you can place over the bite?"

"Yes," Dean said then listened as the operator gave directions for basic first aid. She had finished asking about elevating a limb when Dean cut off the call.

He retrieved the washcloth from the bathroom and proceeded to wipe Sam's face with it but there was nothing he could do as Sam's muscles contracted. Dean knew that Sam was still suffering from the strain of being tied up for so long and guessed the worst of the poison was attacking his injured shoulders and arms. But, like Dean, Sam was a mass of damage inflicted when they were captives and all of it would be victim to the venomous concoction.

Time stopped while Sam writhed helplessly in Dean's arms, screaming out his pain and shuddering through each wave of agony. Dean spoke softly at first trying to comfort him but when he realized that Sam wasn't hearing him, he raised his voice, adopting Dad's commanding tone. The words remained the same as he tried to calm and comfort his brother but the stricter tone seemed to penetrate his fog of pain.

Tears streamed unchecked down Sam's face. He seized up repeatedly, hands clenching into themselves or on to Dean's clothes. His legs curled up then extended, kicking softly at nothing. His head twisted back and forth searching for relief. And all Dean could do was hold him and talk and feel helpless.

When the fire department finally arrived, four men burst through the broken door. Each one carried something, medical equipment, radio equipment, walkie-talkies and they were all confused by the scene in front of them. One man approached with a bland expression and a calm demeanor.

"My name is Gary Brooks," the firefighter said. "What do we have here?"

"My brother was poisoned by black widow venom. He needs the antidote."

Dean thought he sounded reasonable but Brooks cocked his head.

"Where's the bite located?"

The next several minutes found the rest of the paramedics moving in and moving Dean out. Sweat poured out of Sam's body as they took his vitals and examined him. Brooks asked questions; Sam's age, health issues, allergies, recent injuries. Dean answered, aching with every cry of distress that his brother made. It all proceeded methodically and slowly until Dean was ready to pull his gun and order them to give Sam the anti-venom.

"Do you hear him screaming? Enough of this bullshit."

"We have to check him out and get him to the hospital. They'll run blood work. If it was a black widow, they'll treat him," Brooks responded in that calm, authoritative tone that irritated Dean from the start.

"Why don't you believe me? I know what happened and I know what he needs."

"A black widow bite doesn't cause this kind of reaction. We have to know what we're dealing with before…"

"I'm telling you…"

"Where was he bit?" One of the paramedics, his nametag read "Smith", asked. He was kneeling beside Sam and was searching one of his arms.

"I don't know," Dean answered.

"Then how do you…"

"He wasn't bit, he was poisoned. Black widow venom mixed with other crap, okay. He was poisoned, it was deliberate and now he needs the anti-venom."

"Why do you think he was deliberately poisoned?" Brooks asked.

"I know, okay? He told me." Dean heard the hysteria in his voice and stopped. In a calmer tone, he said, "Just, please, do what I ask."

Brooks shook his head, "I'm sorry but we can't. I know it's difficult to see him like this, but we can't give him anything until we know what we're dealing with."

"He's ready for transport," Smith said.

The second set of paramedics left the room only to return a moment later with a stretcher. Brooks maneuvered Dean out of the way as they wheeled in the mobile bed and then all four of them lifted Sam on to it. Sam screamed, his hand wrapping around the closest man's arm then he called for Dean.

"I'm right here, Sam, hang on. Just breathe, just breathe."

A paramedic stepped in with cloths and wiped Sam's face and mouth. Another checked his airway and gave the okay to move him. They tied Sam's limbs down while Brooks explained it was for his safety, to keep him from falling or injuring himself.

"Do you want to ride with him?" Brooks asked as they wheeled Sam out of the hotel.

Dean shook his head. "I'll follow. Which hospital?"

"Good Samaritan."

Dean held his breath while they loaded Sam, still writhing and moaning, into the back of the transport unit. He didn't breathe again until they drove away.

He glanced at the broken hotel door, giving a moment's thought to their belongings. In a neighborhood filled with meth heads and hookers, he knew their stuff wouldn't last long. And some of it was dangerous. He had no choice but to take an extra few minutes to get their things together and throw them in the trunk of the Impala.

By the time he slipped behind the steering wheel, the drain of adrenaline was making him shaky and nauseous. He pulled his phone out, brought up the directions to Good Samaritan hospital and tore out of the parking lot.


	10. Chapter 10

None Goes His Way Alone

By Coffeemaniac

Not Slash

A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)

The Treatment

Dean walked into the emergency entrance of the hospital to find twenty or so other people who were waiting. Some of them were family or friends of patients and some were patients who hadn't been seen yet. Whispers and gestures mixed with staring at CNN as people just sat, fidgeting and reading and paying more attention to their cell phones than was necessary.

Dean dismissed them and went to the front desk. A male nurse with a goatee that needed trimming, and bloodshot eyes, looked up at him with a bored expression.

"My brother was brought here by EMT's. His name is Sam Bachman. I need to know where he is."

"When was he brought in?" the nurse asked as he started typing into his computer.

"Half an hour ago, maybe."

"Okay, I've got him. He's being seen by Doctor Ansari. She'll be out soon to speak with you."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't asking for a status. I need to see my brother."

The nurse rolled his eyes, apparently annoyed.

"Look, sir, there's a lot of people back there already and he's being examined. I just need you to wait here. You don't want to be in the way, right?"

Dean cocked his head, fixing the nurse with his best "don't screw with me" face.

The nurse sighed, "Okay, follow me."

The nurse stood up, walked around the desk and led Dean through a door and into the examination rooms. Separated by curtains, the patients were situated in various stages of the process. Some dressed, some in gowns, some with IV's, some just sitting. Each area they passed was occupied. Most of the patients had at least one person with them. One little girl had two women and a man surrounding her.

"Here you are, Mr. Bachman," the nurse said and motioned to where Sam lay, unmoving on an examination bed.

He wasn't screaming anymore or curling up against the pain. With eyes closed he twitched as if a bad dream plagued him. An IV ran into the back of his hand. His chest was bare and a white sheet covered him from the waist down.

A tiny Arab woman dressed in a white lab coat and black skirt listened to Sam's heart through a stethoscope. Her black hair was swept into a bun. She wore glasses with narrow black rims. She looked up at Dean then spoke to someone else who was standing just out of Dean's view. A moment later, a blond, pony-tailed nurse came from around the curtain nodding at Dean as she passed.

'May I help you?' the doctor asked.

"This is my brother. How's he doing?"

"Well, according to the EMT unit, he was poisoned. We have taken some blood to confirm. I have administered a sedative to help him rest. He was agitated when they brought him in."

"He was in agony. That's what the poison does. It makes your muscles seize up and attacks your body where you're weakest."

"Yes, I was told that you believe the poison had a basis in spider venom."

"That's right."

"How did this happen?"

"A person did it to him. He did the same thing to me a few days ago and I don't want my brother to go through the same hell."

Doctor Ansari frowned for a moment, apparently processing the information. Finally she said, "I understand. We're treating him now and if his blood work indicates the need for anti-venom, we'll administer it. In the meantime, we're watching his vital signs and giving him fluids. He had some minor scrapes and bruises as well but nothing requiring stitches and nothing broken."

"Good," Dean said. He stepped through the curtain. "I'm going to stay with him."

"That will be fine. If you see any change in his condition, call out for a nurse. I'll be back soon."

Dean nodded.

As the petite woman left, Dean guessed that she was on her way to call the police. He was surprised they weren't already there to greet him. He didn't want to deal with giving a statement and he had no intention of implicating Battle or Jacob Moore. He didn't think Moore had anything to do with this latest attack anyway. He hoped Sam would be able to tell him either way. He didn't know why Battle would come back on his own. Maybe Moore hadn't gotten the message out. Maybe Battle was OCD about finishing what he started. It didn't really matter. Battle walked the walk of a dead man, he just didn't know it yet.

In any event, Dean could play stupid. Some people thought he excelled at it.

He moved around to the side of the bed to get a closer look at Sam. His brother's face twitched around his cheeks and eyes. The skin on his hands jumped too as did some muscles along his abdomen. He moved his legs in slow motion, drawing them up just a little then extending them again. Dean heard somewhere that sedatives didn't always block pain. Sometimes they just put the patient to sleep. He didn't know if it was true but he did know that Sam wasn't resting.

Dean pulled the sheet up to cover him better and put a hand against his brother's shoulder. He spoke softly, giving away nonsense words, doubting that Sam heard him or was comforted by him. But, regardless of what little he could offer, he had to believe that Sam's suffering was muted by the drugs. He simply couldn't accept that Sam was experiencing the same horrendous pain that Dean had endured.

He looked away from Sam when he heard footsteps approach. The click clack of Doctor Ansari's heels on tile and the rubber soled sound of a nurse stopped as they reached the curtained enclosure. Dean turned to see her plus the male nurse who had been manning the front desk.

"Mr. Bachman, the police are in the lobby," the doctor said. "They would like to take some information from you regarding the attack on yourself and your brother."

"Do you have Sam's blood work yet?"

"Yes," she said. "We did find spider venom. There are chemicals as well. The lab is sorting that out but in the meantime, we're here to administer the anti-venom. The concentration of the poison is extremely potent. I'm concerned about his ability to process it normally."

"Please. Just give it to him. I don't know what else to do to help him."

"Of course. If you'll go with Aaron, he'll take you to the police."

"I…" Dean took a moment to get his emotions under control. It wouldn't help anything to fall apart. "I don't want to leave him."

"I understand. I'll take care of him, Mr. Bachman but you have to go."

Dean turned back to Sam. He squeezed his bare arm. "They're going to help you now. I'll be back."

Dean followed Aaron out of the maze of sick people. He steadied himself mentally to deal with the police. He and Sam were victims so he wasn't worried about arrest. But, he was worried that they'd take him to the station, fingerprint him and discover his real identity. And he was worried that he'd be separated from Sam.

Outside the exam room doors, a single detective waited. Blond, blue-eyed and wearing a cowboy hat, he looked like a poster boy for joining the force.

Aaron, the nurse, returned to his desk without speaking to either of them.

"Dean Bachman? Detective Hill. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me. How's your brother?" The detective's drawl harkened to Kentucky or Tennessee, maybe.

"He'll be all right," Dean answered

"Glad to hear it, son. The medical people are saying that your brother was poisoned. Do you want to tell me about that?"

"I don't know much. I was injected a few days ago with the same thing so I recognized the symptoms. I called 911 and now we're here."

"You were poisoned too? Did you get yourself checked out?"

"No. I recovered on my own."

"Do you know who injected you and your brother with poison?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't. No."

"Do you have a description of the attacker?"

"No."

"Do you know why you were targeted?"

"No."

"Did you see the attacker?"

"No."

"When did the first attack occur?"

"A few days ago. I don't have a clear memory of it."

The detective had been staring at his notebook and writing. He looked up with a frown. "And what about your brother?"

"I don't think he knows either."

"No, I mean, when was he injected?"

"Earlier today."

"Did he see who did it?"

"I don't know. You'll have to ask him."

"So, I should put out an APB on anyone and everyone who may be carrying a syringe?"

"I'm not a cop but that doesn't sound very effective."

"You understand that I believe you're withholding information, don't you, Mr. Bachman?"

"I assume so, yeah."

"But, you're not interested in giving me more to work with," Hill said.

"I've told you what I can."

"Well, if you decide that you'd like to catch whoever harmed your brother, please contact me."

The detective sauntered his lanky body across the lobby and out the door. Dean didn't expect to hear from him again. Without a cooperating witness there wasn't much to do and Sam wouldn't be able to answer questions for a while.

Glad to have that over, Dean headed back into the examination area. Doctor Ansari met him halfway.

"We're moving your brother into a room. I'm going to keep him until we see how he tolerates the anti-venom. You can wait in the lobby and someone will tell you when he's settled."

"How's he doing?"

"His blood pressure is still a bit high and he's running a slight fever." She continued talking for a while but Dean stopped listening. He didn't need all the details, just the high lights and he had those.


	11. Chapter 11

None Goes His Way Alone

By Coffeemaniac

Not Slash

A/N: Set in Season 1. After Shadow but before Devil's Trap.

A/N: This is the last chapter. Hope you enjoy. Thanks again to all those who sent reviews. I think I've responded to everyone. Thanks also to anyone who is "Following" or marked this story as a "Favorite".

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own." (Edwin Markham)

The Escape

A few hours later, Dean sat beside Sam's bed. The room was a double and Sam's roommate was watching television on the other side of the curtain. It was after two in the morning and Dean wished the other man would shut it off and go to sleep.

About half an hour after Doctor Ansari gave Sam the anti-venom, his blood pressure began to even out and the twitching under his skin ceased. A while after that, his body slipped into a restful sleep and Dean could finally relax.

As the knot in his stomach loosened he remembered that he hadn't called his father. Dean pressed the speed dial and waited for voice mail. Dad never answered his phone. After the greeting ended, Dean started to talk, horrified when his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and blamed the damage done while he was dealing with the poison.

"Sorry, sorry, Dad. Sam's in the hospital. He got injected with the same crap that I did. It was pretty ugly for a while but he's okay now. We're both okay."

Dean disconnected and closed his eyes. Vaguely hungry but too tired to move, he settled back in the hard, plastic chair. The night-owl roommate flipped through channels but he turned down the volume.

Just as Dean started to drift off, he heard Sam murmuring. Dean stood up and found Sam staring back at him with dull, half-opened eyes.

"Hey, Sammy, how're you doing?"

"Okay. You?"

"Me? I'm awesome. They finally got the anti-venom in you. You're going to be fine."

"I'm sorry." Sam's eyes filled with tears and Dean rested a hand against his forehead.

"What for?"

Sam blinked a couple of times, swallowed and drifted off to sleep again. Dean pet his bangs back away from his face and returned to his chair. He didn't know what Sam was apologizing for but it was probably something stupid.

He's the one who should be sorry. He had known that both Battle and the demons might still be around. But, he hadn't liked the way Sam dealt with Moore so he left him alone.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean woke with a stiff back and numb feet. He stretched, yawned and scratched the stubble on his face. He took a look at Sam finding him still asleep so he stretched again and headed out of the room to find coffee and something to eat. He took the elevator down to the first level and followed the posted signs to the cafeteria.

It was early so prep cooks were still prepping but Dean scored a large coffee and a breakfast burrito with egg, cheese and chorizo. He pulled a chair out and sat down noting that only a few other people were up that early. There was one table occupied by medical staff, all dressed in scrubs, who looked like they'd been up all night. Another table held two more hospital workers, also dressed in scrubs, but they were lively and chatty and Dean guessed they were just coming to work. Towards the back of the room, two women sat drinking coffee. Both of them were pale with swollen eyes and blotchy cheeks.

Dean focused his attention on his burrito. It tasted better than he expected which might be because the hospital cafeteria hired excellent chefs or it might be because he was starving.

Dean heard the talkative couple wish each other a good day and watched the young woman walk by his table. She had a swish in her step and he watched her for a moment until the sound of a chair squeaking across the tiled floor drew his attention. He scowled when the man who had been sitting with the perky girl settled across from him. He was black with skin the color of coffee. He had green eyes and hair cut tightly short.

"Can I help you?" Dean asked, annoyed.

The man blinked slowly and when he opened his eyes coal black had swallowed the green. Dean shoved backward automatically searching for a gun that he didn't have because they weren't allowed in a hospital.

"Relax, relax," the demon said, blinking again and bringing back the man's eyes. "You don't want to get into something with all these innocent people around, do you?"

"What do you want?" Dean asked, eyeing the bottle of salt on the table.

"I came here to tell you that you need to take better care of your brother. Honestly, if we hadn't stepped in before, you'd both be dead. No one wants little Sammy dead, do they?"

"What? What do you care if…"

"Dean, the why doesn't matter. Just be glad we showed up and saved you. I mean, really, there was no way out, was there? If we hadn't helped, you two would be rotting away in that basement right now."

"My dad…"

"Was following us."

Dean swallowed, nauseous at knowing the demon was right.

"We can't have Sam dying." The demon shrugged. "You either but that's another story. Not yet, anyway. So, take better care of him or we'll have to take him away from you."

Dean leaped up, his chair falling backward behind him. The demon upended the table sending it and Dean tumbling backward. Around him, Dean heard a couple of startled screams and general sounds of commotion. One woman's voice said, "Wasn't that Ed?" and then one of the cashiers lifted the table off Dean as he was scrambling to untangle himself and get back up.

"You all right?" the cashier asked as he moved the table aside.

"Yeah, thanks." The cashier held out a hand and Dean took it. The man pulled him to his feet.

"What was that?" He asked.

"Misunderstanding," Dean said. "Uh, he thought I was ogling the girl he was with."

"Tracy? Everybody ogles Tracy. I'm surprised Ed took offense."

Dean just shook his head and shrugged.

"You sure you're all right?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"All right, well, here's hospital security. They're gonna want to talk to you."

Dean didn't want to talk to a rent-a-cop. He wanted to get back up to Sam and get the hell out of there. But, he cooperated instead as the slim, brunette security guard asked him questions. She was cute and professional but he grew tired of her quickly so he answered as best he could, lying like crazy and hoping that if the demon dumped Ed then Ed would still have a job to come back to.

When she finally obtained enough information for her report, she advised Dean to stay out of trouble.

"No problem," he told her and headed for the elevator.

The ride up included half a dozen others who exited and entered. It seemed like the lift stopped at every floor. When he finally reached the one holding Sam, Dean rudely pushed to the front, not caring about the glare he received from a woman holding the hand of a young child. He kept himself in check, deliberately not running down the hall to Sam's room. He didn't want to distress the staff who were milling around.

He reached Sam's room to find his brother sitting up, drinking orange juice and looking over a plate of waffles. Sam waved at him at first then must have read the look on Dean's face.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Finish your breakfast. We gotta get out of here," Dean said. "I just had a friendly chat with a demon downstairs."

"What? What happened?" Alarm sounded through every word as Sam dropped his fork on the tray.

"Well, apparently I'm not protecting you well enough. If the demons decide you're not safe with me then they're going to take over the job."

Sam scoffed. "That doesn't even make sense. Why would demons care about me?"

"Well, we don't really know, now, do we, Sam? But, I can tell you this, he was serious. Let's just get out of here. You feel well enough to break out?"

"Yeah, of course," Sam agreed and pushed the tray away. He hesitated a moment and finished the orange juice before getting up.

Dean fished his clothes out of the closet and tossed them to him.

"Hurry up. I'll be in the hall."

Dean paced back and forth in front of the room. He smiled and nodded at passing nurses hoping he didn't look as manic as he felt. He couldn't escape the numbing fear that demons wanted his brother for something and they wanted to make sure he lived to achieve it. He guessed that it must be connected to the visions but how, and why, and what would it mean for Sam?

Sam emerged looking pale, rumpled and shaky.

"I'm ready to go," he said, quietly.

"Okay, if anybody asks we're just heading for the cafeteria so you can get some breakfast and air."

Sam nodded. They only managed to make it as far as the nurses' station when Dr. Ansari came around the corner. She had traded her black skirt for a red one but other than that she looked the same as the night before. Her eyes widened noticeably at seeing the two of them.

"Doctor," Dean greeted with his best, dazzle 'em smile.

"Mr. Bachman, where are you taking my patient?" She asked the question as if it was a joke but her expression said she was serious.

"I just want to get some air," Sam explained with a nod and a shrug. "It's kind of claustrophobic in my room. Plus my roommate is kind of loud."

"Your roommate? Mr. Stevens? He's down in x-ray at the moment, is he not?"

Sam nodded furiously. "Yes, yes, he's not in the room right now but, you know, he'll be back and um, mostly I just want to go have breakfast outside."

"Yeah, right," Dean agreed. "Just taking my brother downstairs. I had a burrito earlier and it was to die for. He just has to try it."

"Hmm. Well, if you're feeling up to it. But, I would imagine you're still a bit weak."

"A little, I guess, but you know, a good breakfast, get some calories in here and I think I'll feel a lot better."

"All right then, Mr. Bachman and, uh, Mr. Bachman, have some food but, be sure to rest for the next couple of days. Drink lots of fluids. If you're having pain then acetaminophen should be able to control it. And if it's worse than that then…contact me, all right?"

All three of them knew that the doctor was giving them post-hospital advice and Dean felt kind of bad for lying to her. But, she didn't say much else and went on her way and he put her out of his mind. The most important thing was getting Sam out of town.

The Epilogue

Sam wanted to close his eyes as soon as they hit open road. He leaned against the vibrating window and tried to ignore the headache pounding away through his temples. He felt warm and figured he was running a low grade fever.

Rallying because he needed to, Sam said, "Dean? Dude, I'm sorry."

Dean looked away from the road for a moment, "For what?"

"What they did to you. I know now. I kind of knew but I just…"

"Sam…"

"You were alone. You had to go through all that alone and ride it out to the end. I mean you saved me back there and I just…I wish I could've saved you."

"Sam, knock it off, okay? I'm all right. None of it was your fault. I'm glad you didn't have to go through what I went through."

"I am too, believe me, but, what little I did experience…it gave me some perspective. I'm so sorry that they targeted you; that I didn't see what Jacob was planning. I should have seen it. He was acting all wrong, there was no staff around, I should have figured it out before things ever got as far as they did."

Even as Sam spoke the words he started to think about what he was saying. It didn't feel true. He had been invited to a home that harbored good memories. He had every reason to believe that he'd be safe there, that Jacob Moore was immersed in grief, not vengeance. Like an epiphany, it occurred to him that he couldn't foresee everything bad that might happen.

"You're not clairvoyant," Dean said, echoing Sam's thoughts. "Well, I guess you are, kind of, but not like this. You chalked his behavior up to grief which anybody would have. Point is, you're not at fault here. That sad, old man and that psychopath he hired are the ones to blame."

Sam nodded. "Okay."

Dean looked at him again. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. I'm still sorry about what happened to you but, you're right, I'm not a mind-reader."

"That was a quick turnaround."

"I guess. But, I'm sitting here turning myself into knots trying to find a way to make this my fault. But, really, what part? I know I should've done more to protect Jess. But, this, what her father did? How was I supposed to see that coming?"

"You're right. About her father, I mean."

"Thing is, I have to start somewhere. I have to forgive myself for Jess and maybe, maybe this is where I start."

"All right then."

Sam leaned back, exhaustion pulling at him. He didn't know if he felt better but he felt different. Maybe it was guilt loosening its hold or anger directed at someone besides himself.

'Now, all we have to figure out is why demons want you alive," Dean said.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. In Chicago, Meg was after Dad but demons worrying about me? Doesn't make sense."

"I'm not sure we want to know the answer."

"It's got to have something to do with Mom and Jess, don't you think?"

Sam hadn't told Dean about the vision he experienced in the basement prison. With everything that happened after it didn't seem all that important. But, his visions always had something to do with the demon that killed their mother and Jessica.

"I don't know what else it could be," Dean answered.

Silence settled between them. What could demons want with him that was so important that one came to save his life? There had been no chance for escape from that cellar. If the demon hadn't come, they would have died.

He looked at Dean, practically feeling the worry pouring off him. The visions, Meg, and now this, what did it all mean?

"You know what?" Dean said, breaking into Sam's thoughts. "It doesn't matter right now. We're safe, we're on the road, let's just do our job. We don't have to solve everything today, right? All we have to do is hunt monsters and that's something we can do."

"Dean…"

"No, Sammy, I mean it. Just let it go for now."

Dean pushed in a Metallica CD and cranked the volume. Sam looked out the passenger side window and tried not to think about what might happen next.

A/N: I could not find anything that named Jessica's parents. She is "Beloved Daughter" on her tombstone which is what started me thinking about who they were and how they would react to losing her.

A/N: If you watch the show then you know why the demons are concerned with Sam's well-being. If you don't watch the show then I don't want to give it away.


End file.
